Nine Months
by KarenES
Summary: June 1999, Nashville. Rayna Jaymes has just gotten some important news – and an invitation. How will they change her life? A multi-chapter AU fic.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: This is my first attempt at an alternate universe fic and, as such, probably belongs in the "never say never" file. It comes out of wanting to try something more plot-driven and knowing that Rayna and Deacon had such a crucial turning point in their history. Eventually, I couldn't resist asking "What If?" Thanks to Shiny Jewel for valuable feedback and encouragement._

Chapter One

An Invitation

Rayna Jaymes pushed through the door of her swanky apartment building, exhaling with relief as a strong blast of air-conditioning enveloped her. It was hot out, and Friday afternoon rehearsal had been particularly difficult. Rayna stepped inside and let the door swing shut behind her. She furrowed her brow and hunched her shoulders for a moment, stretching her back. Then she sighed and dropped her shoulders, closing her eyes briefly and letting her head fall back before she moved on.

It was time to admit that her new lead guitarist wasn't working out. She needed to make a change. She had just been too tired by the end of today's rehearsal even to raise the idea with Bucky. It could wait until next week, she'd decided. Until she had a little more strength.

Rayna walked through the green-carpeted entryway and entered the plush lobby, deep in thought. Would her strength really return next week? Or anytime soon? On good days, she told herself yes: It was only a matter of a week or two and then she'd be back to normal. On a day like today, however, she wondered if that would ever happen. Exhaustion and sadness had dogged her recently, like strays hoping to be fed. She worried that she'd never shake them.

The twin demons had been with her since she'd gotten her news. Like a dolt, she'd immediately started fantasizing about telling Deacon when he got back from rehab, about the two of them eloping, maybe taking a honeymoon trip to their favorite resort in Mexico. But then Coleman had called to say Deacon had bailed on rehab, declaring that he'd never go back. He was in such a dangerous state when Tandy had driven her out to the lake house that she'd left without even talking to him.

_You want him to be the father? Do you have any idea what could happen to you – or to that baby – if he was?_

Tandy had scared her, and so had Deacon. But what if he _was_ the father, as she strongly suspected? Tandy seemed to think Rayna had a choice in that matter. But did she?

So it was that Rayna found herself at a crossroads on this hot weekend in late June; in a place she'd never envisioned for herself in a million years. And yes, she was exhausted and sad, but who wouldn't be?

If her father had taught her anything, it was not to indulge her weaknesses. But tonight, she wasn't so sure she could keep them at bay. Not with the conversation that awaited her.

She crossed the lobby, the hush of great expense surrounding her, from the high ceilings to the dark paneling, large windows and modern art on the walls. It didn't need to be stated that noisy families, frivolous youth and the middle class shouldn't bother applying at this address.

Tandy had chosen the building a month earlier, when it became clear that Rayna couldn't return to the lake house. And after her landlord had told her she was no longer welcome at her old apartment. "Too many complaints from the neighbors," he had said, through a thick twang. "They say y'all is always fightin' with that boyfriend who comes and goes aroun' here. Not the nice one, the drunk one who's dangerous; violent. I can't have all that in my place here no more."

And so she'd wound up in a residence fancier than anywhere she'd lived since she'd left Belle Meade as a teenager. At 27, with her career skyrocketing and a lot of rough years behind her, she'd told Tandy she wanted an apartment that was comfortable and secure and quiet. Someplace where she could be alone; sort things out. This place fit the bill, but she quickly found that it was also lonely. Living here reminded her of the isolation she'd felt in the months after her mother's death.

The doorman nodded and smiled as Rayna waved to him. She walked to the row of gold-plated mailboxes off the elevator and turned the key in the slot marked 424, pulling out a stack of bills, an advertising flyer and the latest issues of two country music magazines.

And something else: A simple white postcard that fluttered out of her hand and onto the floor.

She stooped to retrieve it, readjusting the purse strap that slipped from her shoulder, and turned toward the elevator, examining the postcard. What she saw there stopped her in her tracks: His strong, spiky handwriting, in black ink.

"Ray – I hope you can come to this. I miss you so much. Deacon."

Rayna took a deep breath, her heart in her throat. She flipped the card over and read the text, stamped in purple ink on the front:

_"The Riverside Center invites you to an open house at its residential drug and alcohol addiction program.1-5 p.m. in the Men's Community Room. Please join us for tours, socializing and refreshments."_

The date was written in Deacon's hand: This Sunday. Two days from now. The card had been sent weeks earlier, addressed to her old apartment and then forwarded here. Of course. He didn't know she'd moved.

"Hey. You okay?" The voice in Rayna's ear startled her. A warm pair of hands gripped her elbows from behind, steadying her. "Sorry. It's just - you look like you saw a ghost or something."

Rayna turned to find a sandy-haired young man with green eyes standing close beside her. He was about her height, with a sturdy build, dark eyebrows and a dusting of freckles across his nose similar to her own. He was wearing a green medical scrub top, blue jeans and tennis shoes. He stepped back and released her, stuffing his mail into a Navy blue, battered cloth satchel that was slung over his shoulder.

"Oh," Rayna said, flustered. "I was just reading my mail."

He lowered his eyebrows and nodded solemnly. "_Scary_. I agree."

Rayna's eyes widened and she shook her head, at a loss.

"The mail. All those _bills_, right? Enough to scare anyone." He stuck out his right hand, grinning. "Hey. I'm Dave Rattner. I think we're neighbors."

"Oh … _right._ The bills." Rayna smiled, finally relaxing, and shook his hand. "Nice to meet you, Dave. I'm Rayna Jaymes, I'm in 424. Just moved in last weekend."

"Okay, I thought I saw you moving in. Had a red-haired lady helping you, right? I'm in 426. Are you going up?" She nodded and the two of them walked to the elevator. He punched the button. "New to Nashville?"

"Me?" Rayna looked at him, incredulous. "No. I've lived here all my life. How about you?"

"I'm from Seattle originally. I've been here almost five years, though. I'm a fellow at Vanderbilt so I don't get much chance to socialize, but I like the city a lot. It's fun; always something going on."

"A fellow. Does that mean a doctor?" she asked, stepping onto the elevator and holding the door for him. She pushed four and the door slid shut behind them.

"Yeah. I'm doing my training in public health. I just can't seem to finish, for the life of me." He laughed at his own predicament and the sound was so light-hearted and happy that Rayna joined him. "What do you do?" he asked.

The bell rang as they reached their floor and he stepped back, allowing her to exit first. She shot him a covert look as they walked down the long, tastefully decorated corridor side-by-side, wondering if he was joking. She concluded that he wasn't. He had absolutely no idea who she was. Maybe that wasn't such a bad thing.

"Oh, I write some music. Do some singing around town, too."

"Really? I love music. What part do you sing?"

Now it was Rayna's turn to laugh. "Well, soprano, but I don't do choral singing. It's country music. Ballads, mostly, but some upbeat stuff too."

"Ah, okay. I should have guessed. I'm always telling Kim you can't walk a block in Nashville without running into a country singer. Sorry if I should recognize you or something; I can't say I'm much of a country music fan. Strictly classical for me."

"Got it," Rayna said, stopping at a door with a brass-plated 424 on the front. "Nice meeting you - and thanks for rescuing me down there." She held up her mail and smiled at him. "From the bills, I mean."

"Absolutely," he said, smiling back, and Rayna saw that he had dimples. "Call on me any time you need me. I'm at the hospital at all hours, so you never know when you'll find me home, but you can always bang on my door and see if you can raise me." He turned to continue along the hall and Rayna stood watching until he got to the next door down and pulled a key ring from the pocket of his jeans.

"You know, you look pretty young to be a doctor. How old are you?" she asked.

"I'm 24. One of those wonder kids, I guess. Skipped a bunch of grades, graduated high school early, that whole thing."

Rayna snapped her fingers and pointed at him. "Doogie Howser, M.D. – right?"

"Ouch," he said, looking pained and dropping his chin to his chest. "Please don't go there."

She smiled again. "Sorry. That's the last time you'll hear that from me, I promise."

"Thanks. I'm going to hold you to that, Rayna Jaymes. Have a good night."

Rayna opened her door and walked into her apartment, still smiling. Handsome, funny and a doctor. So where was the girlfriend? He had mentioned something about a Kim; that must be her.

Dave was the first friendly person she'd met in the building, and just five minutes with him had lightened her mood. Maybe this move wasn't such a disaster after all. And the fact that he didn't have a clue about what she did was comforting, too. There had been too many questions at her old apartment. Too many nosy neighbors, masking their gruesome gossip with concern for her well-being. Not to mention the prying reporters and pushy photographers who showed up later. Anonymity suited her just fine right about now.

Rayna tossed her purse onto the couch, and set her mail on the coffee table. The new living room furniture, purchased to replace the set Deacon had trashed in a drunken fury, was top quality; conservative and elegant, reflecting her sister's taste more closely than her own. Rayna had no cause to complain, however. Tandy had swooped in since she'd learned about the baby and gone to great lengths to help Rayna pick up the pieces of her life.

The baby. It didn't seem real.

Tandy had even arranged tonight's meeting with Teddy. Rayna glanced at the clock and went into the bedroom to take her shoes and jewelry off, then walked out to the kitchen. If she had a choice tonight, she would put on her pajamas and get into bed with a bowl of ice cream and the TV remote. But Teddy was due here in less than an hour.

Rayna badly needed a glass of wine to bolster her courage. Instead, she popped open a Diet Coke, caffeine-free, and heated up some leftovers, sitting at the kitchen table to eat. She went over and over the words she had memorized, hoping he would understand.

As she ate, she dipped mindlessly into the candy dish in front of her and picked up a wide silver band, set with a circlet of small diamonds. She slipped it onto her left ring finger and looked at it, remembering the moment that he did not.

_I love you, Ray. I love you more than anything else in the whole world._

_Deacon …_

_Let's do this, baby, please. Marry me._

_Yes. I will. You make me so happy._

_I love you so much._

_I love you, too. I don't want us to ever be apart again._

She had thrown it back at him the next morning as he stumbled off the couch, hung over. But he had insisted she keep it, even as she refused to accept his desperate apologies. Finally, he turned sullen and stalked out, telling her she could _throw the damn thing away_ for all he cared.

But Rayna had kept it. And he'd gone to a local rehab clinic two days later, raising her hopes yet again. But before her signature on the payment check was dry, he had checked out. Coleman had dragged him back - kicking and screaming - a month ago. But who knew how long it would last this time? His track record was not good.

She walked out to the living room, the ring still on her finger, and fished the postcard out of the pile of mail, her heart predictably flip-flopping again at the sight of his familiar handwriting.

"I miss you so much." God damn it. That makes two of us, Deacon. She took a deep breath and went back into her bedroom, opening her jewelry case and slipping both the ring and the postcard inside.

_Sunday_. She didn't have a gig that day. And he was there, trying again, like he always did. Maybe she would go and see him. But first, she had to get through tonight.

* * *

"I guess Tandy told you the news?" Rayna asked, gazing out her living room window into the dark, the lights of Nashville sparkling up at her. Her back was turned to him.

"Yes. She told me about the baby," Teddy murmured, walking over and slipping his arms around her waist. He smiled broadly, face buried in her neck, kissing the spot below her earlobe and tightening his arms around her. He was glad he'd taken the time to shave after work. A smooth cheek for a special night.

"I'm so happy, Rayna, I really am. But why didn't you tell me yourself, honey? You weren't worried I'd be unhappy, were you? Because I'm not. I'm thrilled."

He turned her gently in his arms and she looked up into his eyes and inhaled deeply. She looked frightened, which confused him. Had something gone wrong with the pregnancy?

"Rayna?"

"Uh, well, there's … something I need to tell you."

Teddy waited, still holding her close, his brow furrowed with worry. "Rayna, there's nothing wrong with our baby, is there?"

She cringed at his words. "No. Not that I know of. I mean, it's still so early." She pulled away from his embrace, turning her back on him once again.

Something was wrong. Something big. Suddenly, Teddy's heart was thumping in his chest. "Rayna – what is it, honey? You can tell me. Please."

"It's just …. Well, I'm not exactly sure who the father is."

The silence hung thick in her apartment. Her flowery apology speech had been completely forgotten in favor of just blurting out the truth. The two of them were surrounded by good furniture and classy décor, contemplating something messy and ugly and hurtful. The minutes seemed to tick by forever as Teddy struggled to grasp what she had just said.

After what felt like a long while, Rayna turned, a guarded look on her face. She was scared he would blow up at her, but she thought yelling might be preferable to this: Teddy, just staring at her, his face a mask of dread as the reality dawned over him.

"Teddy. I'm so, _so_ sorry," she began, but he couldn't listen anymore. Couldn't look at her. He didn't need explanations; he just had to get away. He started for the apartment door, than stopped, turning on his heel and walking out of the living room and down the hall toward her bedroom.

Rayna heard the hallway bathroom door open and then shut quietly behind him. That was Teddy: So unlike Deacon. No histrionics, no screaming, no destruction. Just icy, controlled fury and an ability to shut down emotionally that was so cold and calculated it left Rayna shivering. Deacon could be terrifying, all raw emotion and brute force. But the calm contempt that Teddy could turn on and off like a switch was almost worse, somehow.

She didn't move a muscle, she just stood, waiting for him to return. After less than five minutes, Teddy strode back into the living room, walked up to her and took her hands in his own.

"Rayna, let's get married," he said, looking deep into her eyes.

Rayna let out an exclamation of disbelief and stared back at him, her eyes wide. "Teddy, maybe you didn't understand me. What I'm saying is - I'm not sure this is your baby. In fact, I'm pretty sure that it's not."

"_Deacon _…"

She saw the hatred in his eyes, noticed the way his lips curled as he said the name, as if he couldn't spit it out of his mouth fast enough. "Yeah," she whispered. "It's probably his."

"How long have you and he been-"

"No. Oh, god no, Teddy. I wasn't seeing him behind your back, I swear. It was just one time, a couple months ago. He got back from rehab and he asked me to come out to his house – our old house, the one by the lake." She looked up at him, determined to be honest. "And, well, I missed him. He said he had something important to tell me. So I went. And, then …"

Rayna's voice trailed off and she looked down, ashamed. Teddy didn't need to hear any more. He understood perfectly. This beautiful, talented woman - this woman he adored - had one flaw. One weakness: Her low-life, drunk, ex-boyfriend. A man who was only too happy to exploit that weakness every chance he got, the bastard. _The sick, lying bastard._

And now, predictably, Deacon Claybourne was gone again, just when Rayna needed him. And Rayna had turned to Teddy for help and protection. Teddy was used to rescuing her from all kinds of trouble, particularly where it concerned Deacon, and he relished the role.

As the reality of her betrayal had dawned on him a few minutes earlier, Teddy had nearly walked out, done with Rayna for good. He'd been sure that this was the final straw, the last time he'd let her use him.

But he was a banker, and he'd been trained not to act from his feelings, but to stop and think, shoving emotion aside. And, standing in her bathroom, splashing water on his face, two things had become crystal clear: He wanted Rayna, above all else. And this might be his best chance ever of getting her to commit to him.

Teddy inhaled deeply and took Rayna's face between his hands, tilting her chin up so he could look down into her eyes. "You know what? I don't care, Rayna. I don't want to know how it happened. It doesn't really matter, anyway," he started.

But Rayna stopped him. "Doesn't really _matter_? Teddy, what are you saying?"

"Rayna, honey, what I'm saying is this: This baby is yours, and I love you, and that's all that counts. I want you to be my wife. We're so good together. I want us to have a family. I'll love this baby, I swear to you. I'll be a father to it, whether it's biologically my child or not. And Deacon never needs to know any different."

He moved to kiss her, but Rayna pulled back and turned away, sitting down on the couch. The stress of the moment had lifted, at least a little, and she felt weak with relief.

She was still in shock that Teddy hadn't yelled, he hadn't accused, hadn't demanded an apology. Because he really, truly loved her; that much was obvious. Not many women in her position would get an offer so generous, and Rayna knew she should be grateful for it. But when she spoke, her words were halting. "Teddy, I'm so glad you feel like this, like you want to take care of me. You're not furious with me, like you should be. I don't deserve you, babe. I really don't."

Teddy came over and sat next to her, close but not touching. "But … ?"

"But, I'm not sure what I'm going to do just yet. I'm not even sure if I'm ... _going through_ with this, okay? It's early yet and I have a lot of decisions to make. I don't want to rush into anything."

"Listen Rayna, I know how Deacon manipulates you. And I know something else: He's not father material. You and I both know that; everyone does. Do you want to put a child through what you've gone through with him, all these years? Do you want to expose a child to that kind of psychological abuse – even if it is his, biologically?"

Rayna sighed. No. No, she didn't want to go through it anymore, let alone put a child through it. No one deserved that. Teddy was right. And yet …

"I want us to take a paternity test, Teddy. Right away. And if this is your child, I will marry you and I will love you and I won't look back, I promise."

"And if it's Deacon's?"

She looked over at him. He was looking at her so sincerely, so tenderly. He loved her, she knew that. And he was stable, and steady, and kind. He'd make a great father. Sometimes he even made her truly happy; made her forget.

But never for long. Never for long enough, anyway. She thought again about the ring, and the invitation in her jewelry box.

"Rayna," he repeated softly, bringing her back to the moment. "What if you find out it's Deacon's?"

She spoke reluctantly but firmly. "I don't know, Teddy. I don't know anything right now. Just that I need time." She stood up, walked over to her kitchen counter and picked up a business card lying next to the telephone. She held it out to him. "Will you go to my doctor's office next week? She said she'd do the paternity test right away."

Teddy looked down, putting his hands on his knees and sighing as he stood up. He walked over and took the card from her hand. "Yes. I'll agree to a paternity test. But let's do it after we get married. We can go to Vegas next weekend, Rayna. I'll have my secretary arrange everything. We'll have a beautiful trip and I'll take you away from all this stress you've been carrying around. Will you let me do that, honey? I love you so much."

He opened his arms and she leaned into him, putting her arms around his neck and kissing him on the mouth. And then, suddenly, she was crying into his shoulder, pressing her face into his white shirt, smudging it with mascara and her tears.

"I'm sorry," she sobbed, "I'm so sorry, Teddy." She apologized over and over as he held her close and murmured his forgiveness into her hair.

Slowly, her sobs quieted and her breathing calmed. Teddy brought a hand up and brushed the hair off her shoulder so he could kiss the right side of her neck and nuzzle her cheek. He felt her relaxing and he tightened his arms around her, moving to kiss her on the lips.

But Rayna stiffened and pulled away, taking a tissue from a box on the kitchen counter and drying her eyes. She took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I really don't deserve you, babe. I don't. But tonight ... I'm just so tired. Let's concentrate on getting this test done next week. Okay?"

Teddy was disappointed. He'd been hoping to spend the night for the first time since she'd moved to this apartment. But she obviously wasn't up for sex, and he could see that he'd lost the battle to get her to commit now. Still, he was determined to win the war. He would try and persuade her again. He knew it was important to close the deal with her soon, before she found out that her baby wasn't his, which he strongly suspected was the case. He'd been shocked when Tandy told him Rayna was pregnant, knowing how careful they'd been about birth control. But he knew how unlikely it was that Deacon had been equally careful. The idiot had probably been drunk off his ass, as usual.

Rayna was exhausted, he could see it in her eyes. He would let her sit with his offer over the weekend and talk to her on Monday. Claybourne was gone, off at another rehab center somewhere and out of reach for the time being. At least there was no need to worry about him finding out about the pregnancy right away.

"Of course, honey. But think about what I said, will you? I hope you know I'd do anything for you," Teddy said, picking up his jacket and walking toward the door. "I'll get over to your doctor's office on Monday."

Rayna closed the door behind him and breathed out a shaky sigh. As much as she had dreaded this evening all week, it had gone much better than she'd expected. And Teddy's offer had been generous – more than generous. It was something she couldn't imagine most men even contemplating. He was a good man. He'd make a wonderful father.

Rayna walked back to her bedroom and got ready for bed, turning on the TV. Then she walked over to her dresser again, opening her jewelry box. She pulled out the postcard and the ring and stared at them for a long time. Finally, she crawled into bed and turned out the lights.

She had never felt so exhausted in all her life.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

The Definition of Insanity

The drive to The Riverside Center was familiar to Rayna, starting out south on Highway 65. It was the road they had traveled so many times over the years to get to Deacon's cabin.

She cranked up the volume on the CD in her car. It was a track for a new song she needed to learn before a performance next weekend, and the car was the perfect place to practice. She and Deacon had done it many times, singing along with tapes or CDs, happy and carefree at the start of a long weekend or a vacation.

Her mood on this Sunday afternoon was not quite so upbeat. She was happy about seeing Deacon, but nervous too. In the past, he had always gone to rehab clinics across the country. She'd never had a chance to visit him before. What would this place be like? And how would he be feeling? Rayna wasn't at all sure.

She hadn't told anyone where she was going. Everyone thought she was crazy for sticking by Deacon for so long, even the tabloids. Even Coleman, his sponsor - the person who knew him best, besides her - had recently told her she needed to cut him loose or he'd never get better. Sometimes Rayna herself wondered if she was insane.

Why did she do it? She loved him, of course. That was a given. She wasn't the only person who knew how sweet and wonderful he was when he wasn't drinking. She loved his wicked sense of humor and the way he made her feel when he looked at her with that familiar hunger in his eyes. And the two of them shared so much, not only their music, but their outlook on life, their goals. They had been together for so long, looked out for each other for so many years, that she sometimes didn't know where she ended and he began.

And then there was this: He loved her. He loved her more than himself, more than anything in the world. The seas could rise, the sky could fall, she could get sick, grow old, stop singing, stop breathing - and Deacon would love her still. As the years passed, he would take care of her. They would take care of each other, just as they had done since they were teenagers.

_You and me forever, baby_.

The loyalty went back to when they were first starting out, both scared and alone in the world. If only he would stay sober, she knew with absolute certainty that she'd never regret one minute of her life with him. If only.

And so she had stayed. She'd gambled on him, and so far she had lost every bet. And now the stakes were higher, much higher than they had ever been. She could take the uncertainty, the brooding, the seeming inevitability that one day he would end badly. But she couldn't put a child through that, she knew that much. Teddy, who had left five voicemails for her since Friday night, was right. And his offer was more than generous. She knew that, too.

The route to Riverside turned off Highway 65 about three-quarters of the way to the cabin, and it was only a couple of miles west from there. Rayna found the place easily, parked her car and dropped her keys into her purse. She got out and walked toward a low-slung building of beige concrete with wings branching off from either side of the main entrance. It was nondescript enough to be indistinguishable from a small hospital, or convalescent home, with a covered entryway and an automatic door that slid open as Rayna stepped on the rubber mat in front.

As she walked in, she was immediately assaulted by a sour odor, so strong that she felt her stomach lurch. Waves of nausea had been hitting her at all times of the day and night lately, and she'd learned to keep a roll of crackers by her bedside and in her purse. Nibbling on those seemed to calm her stomach.

This smell, though, did more than nauseate her. It made her physically recoil. Pine-Sol disinfectant was the top note, but she could tell it was there to mask something else, another smell that was unfamiliar and highly unpleasant.

What was it? Sickness, maybe. Desperation. Longing. "Rehab sweat," Deacon had called it, repulsed. Now she knew what he meant.

The lobby was quiet and Rayna wondered where the other visitors were. The young woman behind the front desk smiled at her.

"Here for the open house?"

"Yes, I am, thank you."

"And which resident are you visiting today?"

"Um, Deacon. Deacon Claybourne?"

The woman pulled out a sheet of names, searching down the first page with a pencil. She flipped to the second page, and Rayna pointed to his name halfway down the list.

"Oh! Deacon!" the woman looked up at her again, smiling. "You must be Rayna. I'm sorry, I should have recognized you. Deacon talks about you all the time. He's going to be so happy you're here."

"I hope so. Where is he?"

"He's in the community room. They all are. Walk down this hall to my left, make a left at the very end and then go in the third door on your right. You'll hear 'em before you see 'em," the woman said, pointing. "They can make a lot of noise when they all get together."

"Thank you so much."

Rayna took a deep breath, relieved that the smell wasn't so noticeable now, and headed in the direction the young woman had indicated.

She started down the long hall, surprised at how institutional this place felt. It cost so much, she had thought it would be nicer, more like a hotel. Rayna was walking briskly, glancing in at the offices along the hallway, when her progress was stopped abruptly by a short, square woman who seemed to appear out of nowhere.

"I'm sorry," Rayna said, attempting to go around the woman's left. But she moved into Rayna's path, her arms crossed over her thick midsection. She appeared to be deliberately blocking the corridor.

Rayna's eyebrows shot up and she looked at woman more closely.

She looked to be in her late fifties and was wearing a maroon polyester pant suit with a floral print blouse buttoned all the way up under her chin. Her thin, salt-and-pepper hair was cut short in front, with square bangs that hit exactly at the tops of her eyebrows. It was longer in back, reaching to her collar, reminding Rayna of the unfortunate mullet cut that had been so popular in the '80s and still threatened occasional comebacks.

The woman was staring up at Rayna with a fierce gaze under glowering eyebrows, wearing no makeup at all, her blue eyes bright with intelligence behind wire-rimmed glasses. She studied Rayna intently, saying not a word.

"Can you excuse me, please? I'm trying to get to the community room," Rayna said, annoyed but also slightly intimidated by the force of this woman's stare.

"You Rayna Jaymes?"

"Yes, I'm Rayna Jaymes. I'm sorry, I can't sign autographs-" Rayna's voice trailed off, stifled by another withering stare, this one followed by a roll of those blue eyes.

"I don't _want_ your autograph." The woman's voice was low and gruff, her flat accent revealing some Midwestern origin. Chicago, Rayna thought, or Detroit.

"Then, do you mind? I'd like to get to the party." Rayna's patience had come to an end. She wondered if she could push her way past this woman, but she wasn't sure she could. The woman was short, but otherwise built like a linebacker.

The woman's eyes narrowed and she took a firm grip on Rayna's elbow. Before she knew what was happening, Rayna was being steered down to the end of the hall and into the corner office. The room contained a large window but it was small, and taken up almost entirely by a metal desk piled so high with stacks of paper that Rayna could barely see over it.

The woman let go of her elbow and walked behind the desk, nodding toward a chair for Rayna to sit in. "I'm really just here to see Deacon-" Rayna started, sure there was some mistake. But the woman pointed sternly toward the chair, impatient, and Rayna sat down, feeling like a child in the principal's office.

Just then, the telephone on the desk rang and the woman lifted a finger, indicating that Rayna should wait, and picked up the receiver. Great. Rayna considered leaving the room, but the woman was staring at her with such ferocity that she didn't dare move. Instead, she looked around the office.

It was anything but luxurious, but it felt cozy somehow. Nothing like the rest of this place. The walls in here had been painted a warm yellow and there were potted plants scattered around on the dingy linoleum floor, all of them thriving. Large, framed photographs – some of scenery but most of smiling people – took up the better part of three walls. The fourth – the one behind the desk where the woman had settled herself into an enormous office chair – housed a collection of framed diplomas: B.A., M.A., Marriage and Family Therapist, Addiction Counselor, Ph.D.

All were in the name of Jill McClanahan.

"Checking out my credentials? You'll see they're all legit. No diploma mills."

The woman had finished her conversation and hung up the phone before Rayna had noticed. One picture in particular had caught her attention and she was still staring at it. The woman turned to see what she was looking at.

She chuckled, softening a little. "Oh yeah, that one gets 'em every time. Yep – that's me. Or, it was. Sister Margaret Alice. I go by Jill now."

The woman in this photo was much younger and thinner, but still recognizable. She wore the same style eyeglasses, and the eyes behind them were piercing blue, but she was clothed in a traditional black-and-white nun's habit.

Rayna met the woman's gaze and raised her eyebrows. "Was? I didn't think that was a temporary assignment."

Jill smiled. "Nope. It's not supposed to be. But addiction ruins the best-laid plans of mice and men. And women, for that matter."

Rayna was stunned. She didn't mean to be rude, but she couldn't help asking, "_You?_"

"Oh, hell yeah. What, you never heard of communion wine?"

Rayna stared, shocked, until Jill burst into a high-pitched giggle that was so utterly unlike her speaking voice that Rayna finally laughed too.

Jill cleared away a stack of paper, so Rayna could see her better, then scooted her chair closer to her desk. She placed her forearms in front of her and clasped her hands in what Rayna thought must have been a familiar pose from her convent days.

"Rayna – can I call you Rayna?"

"Yes. Sure."

"What are you doing here?"

If nothing else, Jill McClanahan knew how to keep people off-balance. "I'm here to visit Deacon. He sent me an invitation," Rayna started, lamely.

"Okay. But why did you accept that invitation? I mean, what do you think you're going to accomplish, seeing him today?"

"I don't know, really," Rayna admitted. "I'm just here to support him, I guess."

"Do you love him?"

Rayna was startled by the bluntness of this question from a stranger and she drew back in her chair. "Is that what he told you?" she asked.

"Anything our residents say here – in group or one-on-one – is confidential. I couldn't tell you what he's told me even if I wanted to. And I _don't_ want to. However, Deacon's given me permission to discuss his progress generally with you. He's listed you as his next of kin."

Rayna was surpised by this and her face showed it.

Jill seemed to soften again. "Rayna, can I be honest with you?"

"Yes, please. I want him to get better – to get help. I want that so much."

Jill plucked a file folder out of the pile of papers nearest her and opened it, leafing through the first couple of pages.

"You're paying for his treatment with us, aren't you? I see he left early the first time he was here, eight weeks ago. And he's been in and out of rehab several times in the past few years."

"This is his fifth try, counting the first time he was here."

"And you've been footing all those bills?"

Rayna nodded, looking down at her lap.

"When are you going to stop throwing away your money?"

Rayna looked up, shocked. "What?"

"He's a four-time loser, Rayna, and I'm sure you're out a pretty penny with nothing to show for it. You don't _look_ stupid, but you're acting like it. You know what Einstein said about the definition of insanity, don't you?"

Rayna felt her blood boiling. She'd had about enough of this. She didn't know exactly who Jill McClanahan was to Deacon, or why she was even in this office, but she did know that _no one_ spoke to her like this. No one. She wouldn't hear another word of it. She pushed her chair back, furious, and started to leave.

"Did it never occur to you – not even once - that you're part of his problem?"

The words stung, hard, like a physical blow. Rayna stopped at the door and turned around, meaning to say something cutting in reply. But no sound came out when she opened her mouth.

"Rayna, he gets sober for you – don't you get that? And then as soon as he gets out of places like this, and he wins you back, he's got no more motivation. The fact that you've made yourself available to him every time he cleans up his act means that he doesn't have a reason to keep trying."

The truth of these words gripped Rayna. Suddenly, they made all the sense in the world. She'd known this; known all of it for years. But she'd never consciously admitted it before, not even to herself.

"I love him!" she cried, tears springing to her eyes. "I just want to help him. He's sick! He's trying so hard to get better."

"Sit down, Rayna," Jill said, her tone softening again. "And shut the door, if you would."

Rayna did as she was told, sinking slowly back into the chair in front of Jill's desk.

"Look, addiction's a battle that never stops, not for a minute. Deacon's fighting that battle hard while he's in places like this, and he does well while he's inside. Then he's released and he gets exactly what he wants – and that's you. I bet he buys you all kinds of nice things when he first comes home, doesn't he?"

Rayna just looked at Jill, the truth plain on her face.

"Fancy jewelry and clothes, I'd say from the look of you. Has he bought you an expensive piano, or a guitar? Or how about a house? That one's usually the topper."

Rayna felt her face go red, thinking about her dream house on the lake. She'd known Deacon wasn't supposed to be making big decisions back then. But she'd let him do it anyway.

"Uh-huh. Thought so. And then things are lovey-dovey between the two of you for a while, right? You figure it's all going to be okay; that he's finally licked it. And then, just when you start to relax, let down your guard around him - he gets lazy. He stops fighting. And he goes right back to doing whatever he has to do to keep from feeling the pain that lives inside his head, every single minute."

This description of their lives these past few years was so spot-on that Rayna felt like Jill had been spying on them. No one had ever gotten their dynamic quite so right before. "What am I supposed to do?" she whispered, her face desperate.

"Well, you could start by not being so lazy yourself."

Rayna started, thrown off balance and offended again, but not so eager to walk this time. "What's that supposed to mean?" she demanded.

"It means that you've got to work at this too, Rayna. I mean, I know you're a big celebrity and you have tours to do and albums to record. But you have to take this seriously yourself, if you want to stay close to him."

Rayna looked down at her lap. "I don't have a choice."

"What?"

"_Nothing," _she whispered. "I mean, I do want to stay in his life. Of course I do. Can I?"

Jill sighed and shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know. To be honest, you two are a damned toxic combination. Deacon needs to work on himself, for himself – not for you or anybody else. An addict can't get sober for somebody else, that's not how it works. That's why it hasn't worked for him, all these times."

Rayna sat still, looking at Jill. No one had ever talked to her about Deacon like this before. Maybe, she realized, it was because she'd never asked. "What can I do?"

"I'd say you're going to have to find a way to distance yourself from him, at least for now. Maybe forever. Staying sober for himself, realizing that he's worth the effort - that's going to take him the rest of his life. If he thinks he's not worth bothering about unless you're with him, it's never going to work. And even if he does stay sober for you, it'll never stick. He might be able to hold out months – years, maybe – but it won't be permanent. Hell, this is never permanent. All of us are only one stupid impulse or one emotional breakdown away from starting all over again."

"One day at a time," Rayna said, gazing up at the familiar Alcoholics Anonymous motto on the wall.

"That's right. It's 10,425 days for me. And I could screw up 10 minutes from now and start all over again from Day One tomorrow." Jill pulled out her desk drawer and fished out a card, handing it across the desk to Rayna. "That's a schedule of the weekly Al-Anon meetings in Nashville. The ones that are circled in red are the ones I lead. You might think about coming by, if you really want to be with him again some day."

"I do. But how long will it take? I mean, how will I know when he's ready?" Rayna asked. She didn't have forever. She only had nine months.

"You'll know when he can be happy without you. But he's got a lot of work to do to get there. First, he's going to have to find himself - his true self. And he's been lost for a long, long time."

Jill pushed her chair back from her desk, making a loud scraping noise as she did so. "Okay, you'd better get going now. Get yourself down to that party if you want to catch them before it's time for group."

Rayna stood up slowly, realizing that much as she hadn't wanted to come into this office, now she didn't want to leave. She wanted to know more about Deacon; she felt like she didn't really understand how she could help him. But Jill looked at her watch, impatient suddenly, and shooed Rayna toward the door.

She started to walk out, but then Rayna stopped and turned around. "How come you told me all this, anyway? Nobody's ever said anything like this to me about Deacon before."

For the first time, Jill avoided Rayna's gaze, looking straight ahead with an uncomfortable expression on her face. Rayna was surprised when she realized that Jill was embarrassed.

"I guess I've got a little soft spot for Deacon," she admitted, finally. "I think he's worth saving. They all are, but … well, I play the guitar myself. I'm not any good; not like him. I'd like to see him stick around."

Rayna smiled. "Me too," she said softly, and she walked out of the office, the little card clutched in her hand.

She turned around again at the door, but Jill was already poring over another thick file folder, Deacon's paperwork set to one side.

"What is it, anyway?" Rayna asked. "I mean, what you said - about the definition of insanity?"

Jill didn't appear to hear at first, but after a moment she barked out a reply, her voice gruff once more. "Look it up."

Rayna stepped outside the office and closed the door. She leaned up against the wall in that antiseptic hallway, reeling. She'd taken in more than she could process and part of her was still discouraged, especially when she thought about Jill's pronouncement that she and Deacon were a "toxic combination." People had told her that for years, and she'd stubbornly refused to believe it. Having Jill validate it was frightening.

Another part of her, however, was hopeful. As difficult and annoying as Jill was, Rayna could tell that Deacon had a powerful ally in her, someone who wasn't as willing to write him off as everyone else seemed to be.

Rayna looked down at the card she held, noting the time and place of an upcoming Al-Anon meeting. Then something else caught her eye, a blur streaking up the long hallway. She lifted her head quickly and just had time to recognize Deacon, racing toward her with a huge smile on his face, before he caught her up in his arms and swung her around, crushing her in a joyful embrace.

"Darlin', you made it! Oh Ray, I'm so glad you're here."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The Riverside Center

Leaning up against the wall in the men's community room, Deacon was discouraged. The hours were ticking by and so far Rayna hadn't shown up. He scanned the large, utilitarian room with its white walls and beige linoleum. In an attempt at festivity, it had been decorated with colorful streamers and balloons, but by now everything was starting to sag, the balloons taking on a melancholy quality as they inched toward the floor. Deacon decided that if Rayna didn't show up in the next 10 minutes he would go back to his room. He hated parties in general, and they were especially noxious when he wasn't drinking. The pressure to engage in small talk and _have fun_ always made him anxious.

Hell, putting a bunch of drunks and junkies together and telling them to whoop it up eating sandwiches and drinking fruit punch was pretty much a lost cause, he thought. He looked around again, taking in the awkward clumps of men dressed up to impress their visitors, and winced. He felt like he'd been transported back to eighth-grade cotillion.

_Screw it._ She wasn't going to turn up, that much was obvious, so he could stop kidding himself. Deacon tossed the plate of half-eaten food he'd been holding into a nearby trash can and headed for the door. He exited into the hall, starting to go to the right, toward his room, where he figured he'd play his guitar until it was time for his evening group meeting. But something caught his eye and he glanced to his left.

And there she was, leaning up against the wall at the other end of the hall, looking even more beautiful than he remembered her. He froze, astonished, and then chuckled to himself, overjoyed as he recognized that she was here for him, once again. He started to walk toward her and quickly broke into a run. But she was staring at the floor, seemingly lost in thought, and didn't look up until he was right in front of her.

"Darlin', you made it! Oh Ray, I'm so glad you're here," he exclaimed, throwing his arms around her and lifting her off her feet in his exuberance. He swung her around and pulled her into his chest. She was surprised at first, he could tell. It took her a moment, but gradually he felt her relax and return his embrace.

"Hey," she whispered into his ear after he put her down, resting her chin on his shoulder. She felt so good; her perfume was so familiar. The warmth of her body pressed against his was like a tonic for his battered soul. He couldn't begin to tell her how much he had missed her; missed holding her. "I can't believe you're really here," he said. He pulled back and looked at her for a long moment, his arms still around her.

"What're you looking at?"

"You. You're just so damn beautiful."

Rayna smiled and Deacon brought his face close to hers and sought her mouth with his own, kissing her hungrily. She returned his kiss, as if she couldn't help herself, but quickly pulled away, stepping out of arms.

"Deacon-" she began. But he was already talking over her.

"What happened, did you get lost? I been waitin' on you all afternoon. C'mon, you hungry? There's lots of food down here." He put his right arm around her waist and walked her down the hall toward the community room.

He felt some kind of reluctance in her, but she went along with him. "I found the place just fine. It's not far from your cabin. I actually got here a while ago. I've been talking to Jill."

"You got to meet Jill? That's fantastic! Isn't she great?"

Rayna raised her eyebrows and turned to him, looking surprised. "She's … _interesting_."

Deacon was puzzled. Rayna usually got along so well with people. "What, you don't like Jill?" he asked.

Rayna took a deep breath. "She's _unique_. I'll say that for her."

By now they were in the community room, which had started emptying out since the party was nearly over. "Let me get you somethin' to eat. There's lots of food left," he said, steering her over to the buffet table, which was still crowded with platters of forlorn sandwiches, wilted vegetables and crackers piled up among half-eaten chunks of cheese.

Rayna took a long look at the food and then turned away quickly, her face white as a sheet.

"What's wrong, baby?" he asked, alarmed.

Beads of sweat broke out on her forehead and she brought her right hand to her mouth. "I think I'd like to just sit down for a minute," she murmured. He pulled a chair over for her and she sank into it, breathing deeply.

He waited a moment, until she seemed to compose herself. Then she looked up at him, her face serious.

He raised his eyebrows, concerned. "You okay, darlin'? What's the matter?"

"I'm fine, sorry. I just … can you get me some water and a few of those crackers?"

"Sure. That all you want?"

"Yeah. I had lunch before I left. I guess something didn't agree with me."

Deacon looked at her again. Something else was wrong but he had no earthly idea what it might be. He walked over to the buffet table and returned with a bottle of water and a plate of crackers.

"Thanks," she said, taking a long drink and slowly eating some crackers. After a couple of minutes, she looked up at him again, her face so serious that it scared him. "Deacon, we need to talk," she said.

"Okay, darlin', whatever you want. Let's get outta here." He took the plate from her and reached for her hand. He wasn't sure what was going on. But whatever was wrong, he wasn't going to hear about it in front of a bunch of strangers. He led her out of the community room and down the corridor. "Thought you might want to see the place anyway," he said, smiling. "Maybe I could take you on a little tour."

"Oh yeah? What kind of tour?" she asked, seeming more like her old self. She smiled at him, what he thought was an encouraging smile, so he led her into a small alcove. She didn't protest as he pulled her against him, a wicked grin on his face. "Oh, I thought we'd take in all the highlights. We could start with my room, for instance." He leaned his forehead against hers and she laughed as he started kissing her.

Then she stiffened and pulled back again, looking down at the floor. "Deacon, we _can't_ do this. You know that."

"But you want to."

She sighed and shook her head. "What I want is just not what _matters_ right now."

"It matters to me, baby. It matters a whole _hell of a lot _to me," he replied.

She sighed again and looked up at him. Instantly, he recognized the hunger in her eyes, a hunger that mirrored his own. She might not admit it, but he knew without a doubt that she still wanted him.

"C'mon, baby. It's been a hell of a long time. Too long. What, six months at least - right?"

At that, Rayna stared at him, looking perplexed. She started to shake her head and then seemed to stop herself. "_Six months_?" she repeated, slowly.

"Yeah, right after Christmas, remember? I came to see you at your apartment? I thought we had a pretty good time, didn't we?" he murmured, leaning in to kiss her once again.

But she stepped back, still staring. "Oh," she said finally, her voice faint. "Yeah."

Why was she pulling away like this? For the life of him, Deacon could not understand why she would show up and then act so strange and distant. Then, all of a sudden, it hit him. It's obvious, you stupid idiot. She was getting serious with Teddy Conrad and she'd come up here to break it off with him for good. Probably figured she'd deliver the blow now, he thought bitterly, while he was safely inside. Let him down easy in a place where he wouldn't be in danger of falling off the wagon. His heart sank.

"Ray, you want to talk? About what - Teddy Conrad? You're still seeing him, aren't you?" he asked, his eyes gone flinty and his face somber.

"No, that's not ... I mean, yes, I'm still seeing him but-"

Deacon sighed, annoyed, and stepped away from her. "Why'd you even bother to come all the way up here, Rayna? If you wanted to break up with me, you shoulda just sent me a letter, or an email, or somethin'."

"Deacon, you know you don't do email."

He shook his head, even more annoyed. She'd gotten his hopes up for nothing. He looked at her, anger burning in his eyes. "I thought that you were gonna stand by me. That you were waitin' for me."

"_Waiting for you_? God, Deacon, that's all I've been doing for years! Don't you accuse me of not waiting for you, because that's just not true!"

"Look, you know what? Why don't you just go on home. Go back to Teddy Conrad. I don't deserve you anyway. I never did."

She laid a hand on his arm. "Deacon, stop talking like that. You know I only want you to be happy."

"You know good and well you're the only thing that's gonna make me happy, Ray."

She stared at him keenly and then a panicked look came over her face. "No - you can't expect for me, or anyone else, to make you happy. That's not right!"

His eyes narrowed. "Oh, you _have_ been talkin' to Jill. That sounds just like something she's always sayin'. And here you said you didn't even like her."

"Well, I didn't. Much. But maybe you ought to listen to her, or someone besides yourself for a change!"

Deacon felt his blood turn icy. What the hell did she know about it? About the months and years he'd spent, trying to change - for her? Who was she to lecture him? "I guess you know _everythin'_ I oughta be doin', don't you?" he said, turning away in disgust.

"Deacon, please ..." She had tears in her eyes. Suddenly he felt miserable. This was not the way the afternoon was supposed to go. Not even close.

A voice came over a loudspeaker just then. It was a reminder that group therapy sessions started in 15 minutes.

"Go on, Rayna. Go on home. I gotta go spill my guts to a whole lotta guys I don't even know."

She looked like she was close to losing it. "Deacon, please don't be mad at me," she whispered.

"I'm not mad at you darlin', it's just – I guess we're not seein' things the same way these days. I'm up here doin' all this for you. I hope you know that."

She shook her head slowly. "You can't do it for me, Deacon. You've got to want this for yourself."

A rueful smile crept over his face. He knew "rehab speak" when he heard it. And Rayna had clearly been pumped full of it this afternoon. He sighed and looked down the corridor, toward the lounge where a group of men were gathering for their meeting. He started to back away. "Thanks for comin', baby. Maybe I'll see you around when I get back to town in a couple weeks."

* * *

"Deacon, do you have anything to share? We haven't heard much from you lately, man." Gus, the group therapy facilitator, had a kind face that clashed with his otherwise rough exterior. He was a biker, one who wore chains from his belt loops and sleeveless leather vests that displayed his heavily tattooed arms. He looked over at Deacon, who was holding his head, elbows on his knees, staring at the carpet in the lounge. After an awkward pause, Deacon sighed and looked over at him. Gus nodded, encouraging him.

"I guess all this pretty much started with the nightmares," Deacon said in a quiet voice. He took a deep breath and passed his hand over his face.

Yes, the nightmares were what started it. The terrifying, wake-up-screaming nightmares, the ones that left him drenched in sweat, his heart pounding. He would be jolted out of his sleep, never quite able to remember what it was that had scared him to death. He couldn't go back to sleep, and so he would get up and have a drink to calm his nerves. And then another to help him sleep until morning. And once he'd had two, why not four? Why not just finish the bottle?

The _stupid, fucking_ nightmares. They were what set him on the road from heavy drinker to weekend drunk to full-time alcoholic.

"How long ago was that?" Gus's voice was gentle. But all the men in the group knew he could also be insistent. And Deacon had been getting a pass lately. That was obviously changing today.

"I don't remember, exactly. Rayna says they started after Vince died. They're just, I dunno - just terrifyin', is all I can say. I don't know exactly what's happenin' in 'em, I never remember. But I wake up just about scared to death. And then I can't get back to sleep."

"And what does Rayna do?"

"Well, she doesn't always wake up, to tell you the truth. Not if I can keep quiet. But when she does - _when she did - _she always tried her best to help. Wanted me to talk about it. Stuff like that."

"And did you? Do you talk about it, I mean? With her - or with your sponsor?"

Deacon sighed and ran his hands over his scalp, looking up at the ceiling. "Not really," he admitted. The thought of delving into his nightmares, dissecting whatever it was that tormented him in the wee hours - that seemed more frightening to him than the dreams themselves. And talking about them with Rayna? Even the idea made him sick with shame.

"What happens after the nightmares?" Gus probed, seeing Deacon's reluctance but determined not to let him off the hook.

"Oh, well, uh - most times I just get up an' go have a drink. And then when that doesn't help enough, I'll have another one. Or I'll open a bottle of pills, just to help me get back to sleep. You know?"

Gus smiled, sadly, and glanced around at the men sitting huddled in the circle. "Yeah, I know. I bet we all know about that, right?"

"Oh, hell yeah," came the response from the man sitting to Deacon's right, who clapped him on the shoulder. The other group members nodded and grunted their assent, shifting in their chairs. They'd all been there.

Some men were functional alcoholics: They could hold down jobs; have a semblance of a family life; float along for years, spending most of their waking hours pleasantly sloshed. Some of them were members of Deacon's own family. Hell, he admired them. A man should be able to hold his liquor. That much was gospel where he came from, right up there with the Ten Commandments and the Great Commission.

But Deacon was never that lucky. No, he thought, he was just like his father. Getting drunk might dull their pain and make them forget whatever it was that kept them up at night, but it also made the Claybourne men mean. Mean and sloppy and angry. _So fucking angry._

His father had seemed to relish the power drunkenness had given him, the _who-gives-a-shit _abandon that justified anything he did. But Deacon hated it, even as he recognized it was increasingly taking hold of him. He hated how it made him incapable of playing his guitar, or turning up for shows on time. Or at all.

The worst part was the fear he saw in Rayna's eyes when he was wasted. How everything she did to try and help only made him angrier. And when he was angry, he was liable to pick up whatever was close at hand and throw it against a wall. He had smashed more lamps, plates and glasses than he'd ever owned and sometimes graduated up to larger objects: chairs, tables, guitars.

He'd never hurt Rayna – not yet. Never wanted to, no matter how fucked up he got, and thankfully she was nimble enough to get out of his way. But if he kept up like this, it was only a matter of time, he knew. Only a matter of time before he hurt her. And he would rather die than hurt her.

No wonder she preferred Teddy Conrad. He might be tone deaf and dull as dishwater, but he would never throw an ashtray or bust up her living room set.

Gus continued probing as the evening wound down and Deacon continued on, reciting the measure of each of his failings in all their goriest detail. He hated group, hated therapy of any kind, but confessing what a horrible boyfriend and all-around miserable human being he was had never been a problem for him. Neither had getting sober. The sweats and cravings and delirium tremens felt like exactly the punishment he deserved for being a loser and a drunk.

After the session wrapped up several of the men walked over to Deacon, bestowing silent hugs or shaking his hand, congratulating him for sharing and for the progress he'd been making.

What they didn't know was that Deacon's problem wasn't getting sober, it was staying sober. Whatever it took – willpower or inner strength or a higher power or just plain integrity – he just didn't seem to have it in him. He didn't think he'd ever be capable of laying off the booze and the pills, no matter how miserable they made him or who he hurt. Whether that was his best friend, or the woman he loved. Or even himself.


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Thanks so much for all of your wonderful comments, which have been particularly generous given how bleak these early chapters have turned out. I promise things will get better eventually! Thanks also to Shiny Jewel for beta-reading and advice._

Chapter Four

Paternity Revealed

It was nearly a week and a half after her visit to The Riverside Center, and Rayna was in the waiting room at her gynecologist's office. She'd been referred to Dr. Lindsey Madsen by a fellow singer nearly a decade earlier. At that time, she'd been an intimidated teenager looking for birth control, and the doctor had been a newcomer to a large, male-physician-dominated medical office. Over the years, Rayna had referred several friends to the efficient but caring doctor, who had gone on to have two children and establish her own practice.

In turn, Dr. Madsen had followed Rayna's career – and Deacon's – and the two women had become friendly. Two years earlier, she had moved into a suburban practice with three other female OB/GYN's. It was a bit of a drive, but Rayna had stayed with her. Today she couldn't have been happier that she had. She could only imagine the judgmental looks she might have gotten from some doctors if she'd gone to them asking for a paternity test. Not to mention the tabloid leaks. Dr. Madsen and her staff had been nothing but professional and supportive.

On previous visits for checkups and Pap smears, Rayna hadn't paid much attention to the other women in the waiting room. She'd always been distracted, working on something or in a hurry to get back to the studio. Today, however, she found herself gazing at all the pregnant women surrounding her. Some of them were barely showing, wearing their new maternity clothes with a self-conscious air, tinged with a hint of pride. Others waddled through the door, flushed and looking as if they couldn't wait to be rid of their enormous bellies. And some, accompanied by friends or mothers, entered carrying newborns in their just-out-of-the-box car seats, babies wailing lustily - everyone else clearly exhausted.

Most interesting to her were the couples. All of the soon-to-be fathers seemed to slink their way into the waiting room, grimacing as if they could barely suck down oxygen from the estrogen-rich atmosphere. The older ones sat next to their wives or girlfriends, slouched low in their chairs, pretending to be absorbed in articles like, "Best Strollers for your Budget" in the latest issue of "American Baby" magazine. Rayna thought they might find themselves more captivated by the headline that had caught her eye, "Great Sex During Pregnancy: Yes, You Can (Still Do It)!"

The younger men sat with their legs thrust out, arms and ankles crossed, and threw their heads back, gazing at the ceiling as if bored to tears. At least Deacon wouldn't act like that, Rayna thought. _Deacon_. Picturing him here amused her. What would he do? How would he feel? Or maybe it would not be Deacon but Teddy here with her a few months from now.

Dr. Madsen's nurse, Kathy, appeared in the doorway and called Rayna's name. Heads swiveled in unison, as those in the waiting room who hadn't spotted her looked up, interested. Rayna rose and followed Kathy down the hall into the doctor's carpeted and wood-paneled office. The nurse had short blonde hair and a German accent, and she made over the babies like a long-lost grandma. Rayna noticed that many of the new mothers greeted Kathy as if she were a relative, or a dear friend. She wondered whether she'd get similarly close to her over the coming months.

Once Rayna was settled in the office with a glass of water, Kathy put her chart in a slot on the back side of the door and walked out. "Doctor will be with you in just a couple of minutes," she said, smiling.

Rayna took a deep breath. She couldn't remember being this nervous, unless she was backstage at a major arena waiting for her turn to go on. In fact, this was probably worse than that. Forgetting a lyric or missing a note in concert wasn't likely to change her life. The next half hour would.

She had been on pins and needles since she and Teddy had visited this office to have the test done. Sometimes, she wondered if she should have listened to her family and just married him - or someone like him - a long time ago. How much easier it would have been to have fallen in love with an art teacher, or a doctor, and settled down by now. She smiled to herself when she realized that it was her neighbor Dave's face – shaggy blond bangs falling into his eyes, longish hair curling up a little at the nape of his neck – that came into her mind when she thought about marrying a doctor.

Instead, she'd been swept off her feet by Deacon, and she'd never looked back. Their relationship had been passionate but exhausting. And now, between speculating about the results of this test and keeping Teddy at bay – he was still calling several times a day insisting they get married - Rayna had not slept soundly since her visit to Riverside.

Her conversation that afternoon with Deacon, though brief and heartbreaking, had been revealing. Rayna had realized that Jill's harsh diagnosis was absolutely accurate: Deacon was doing the work to get sober all right, but he was doing it for her, expecting her to bring him happiness. That meant that when he finished his program, the two of them were destined to fall back into the vicious cycle they'd been stuck in for years. Unless something changed.

The other thing their talk had shown her was that Deacon had absolutely no recollection of that magical night back in April. She'd known that he didn't remember asking her to marry him; that was why she had thrown off his ring. But she hadn't any idea that he didn't even remember seeing her. His comment that their last encounter had been at Christmastime meant that he had gotten so completely wasted after he had stormed out on her, the entire weekend had been erased from his memory.

That realization was sad, and frankly humiliating. But it raised an intriguing possibility: Teddy's crazy scheme – one that Tandy was pushing now as well - could actually work. Rayna hadn't seriously considered marrying Teddy and having him raise Deacon's child – if indeed this was Deacon's child – as if it were his own, leaving Deacon completely in the dark. That was impossible, she'd told him over and over again. Surely Deacon could add, could count up the weeks and months since they'd been together. And surely he would come to her, asking if there was any possibility he could be the father of her child.

And lying outright to him? Denying it to his face? Rayna didn't think she could do that, not about this. But, if he didn't remember their night together? That meant it would never occur to him that her baby could be his. He would never demand a paternity test, or sue for custody, or want visitation rights. She and Teddy could plausibly keep this baby away from him, raise it in safety and comfort, and get away with it. Maybe forever. It was almost too easy. That tantalizing thought had been lingering in her mind, shaming and tempting her at the same time.

There was a quiet tap on the door and Dr. Madsen entered, smiling, carrying Rayna's chart in her left hand. She extended her right hand and Rayna rose and took it, returning her smile nervously. "Hey there, lady – always good to see you," the doctor said, leaning in to kiss Rayna's cheek. Rayna put her arms around Dr. Madsen and gave her a little hug. "It's always good to see you too, although today …" Rayna's voice trailed off and she grimaced.

Dr. Madsen had curly blonde hair that reached to her shoulders. She always wore it pulled back with a sparkly headband, which today matched her earrings. Under her long white lab coat, she wore a navy blouse and skirt, with pantyhose and heels. No matter how many hours she worked, or how much time she spent running after her toddler and her first-grader, the woman always looked classy. Rayna loved that about her. The doctor walked around her desk and sat down, setting the chart in front of her and opening it.

"I know this isn't the easiest time for you, Rayna. I'm sorry about that. How are you holding up?"

Rayna took a deep breath and let it out. "I'll tell you what, I'm going to feel a whole lot better once we get this over and I know where I stand," she said.

"I know. It's always the uncertainty that's the worst, isn't it?"

Rayna nodded, watching anxiously as the doctor scanned the first few pages of the chart. She flipped back and forth between them for what seemed like an eternity but was probably no more than a minute. When she looked up, her face was grave.

"I'm sorry, Rayna. The test results are negative. There's definitely no genetic match."

Rayna swallowed, wanting to be certain of what she was hearing. "And that means …?"

"I'm afraid there's no possibility that the fetus you're carrying was fathered by your current partner-" Dr. Madsen flipped the page over again and ran her index finger down it. "Mr. Theodore Conrad. This isn't his baby."

A flush of elation shot through Rayna from her head to her toes. _Deacon's baby._ She'd felt it all along, known it in her bones; but now it was true. Scientifically confirmed. _Deacon's baby_. Immediately, the initial joy was followed by a chill of apprehension. _Deacon's baby_. Everything was about to get much, much more difficult.

"Is there … someone else we should bring in for testing, Rayna?" Dr. Madsen asked, delicately.

Rayna shook her head. "No. There's no need. I know who the father is." The doctor was looking at her, curious but too professional to come out and ask. Rayna closed her eyes and nodded. "Yeah, it's Deacon's."

"Oh, Rayna," she said, reaching across the desk for Rayna's hand. "How's he doing these days, with the substance abuse?"

"Not good," Rayna said. "Not good at all."

Dr. Madsen gave her a sympathetic look and squeezed her hand briefly. "The lab that did the testing will send the results to Mr. Conrad, but you'll probably want to discuss them with him yourself," she said, and Rayna nodded. Then she went back to the chart, looking through several more pages. "Well, the good news is that there were no abnormalities found. So far, this is a healthy fetus. And I can tell you the gender now too, if you'd like."

"Really? You can?" Rayna said, surprised. This possibility hadn't even crossed her mind.

The doctor smiled. "Well, when we analyze the genes, we can tell a whole lot. Including whether the fetus has an X and a Y chromosome or a double X. I won't tell you, though, unless you really want to know."

Rayna didn't have to think long before she answered. "You know what? I've had way too many surprises lately. Go ahead and tell me."

"Okay. It's a girl."

A girl. A perfect little girl. _Deacon's daughter_. Her eyes welled up, and Rayna felt her throat catch with emotion.

Dr. Madsen noted the tears. Her face got very serious. "You know, Rayna, you _do_ have a choice here. You're getting very close to the end of your first trimester, so you don't want to take too much time, but …" she reached for a card on her desk and handed it across to Rayna. _The Women's Center_. "This clinic does all kinds of screenings and well-woman exams. They also do terminations. It's clean, and safe, and everyone who works there is very discreet. I've referred several patients there and I've never heard a bad word from any of them."

Rayna stared at Dr. Madsen, her heart thudding, realizing what she meant. She looked down at the card again. "Oh."

"I want you to know, Rayna, that whatever you decide, I'll support you. And I'm here for you if you want to talk things through, ask questions - anything. If you need me, call my office number. If I'm not with a patient or at the hospital, I'll jump on the phone with you. If I'm busy, leave a message and I'll get back to you just as soon as I can. Okay?"

Rayna brought her right hand up to her heart and nodded, her eyes still moist. "Thank you," she said, "I am really _so_ grateful to know you. And _so glad_ that you're my doctor."

* * *

That night was another near-sleepless one for Rayna. Between daily pregnancy exhaustion and her nocturnal tossing and turning, she didn't know how long she could hold up like this. Her work was suffering and she'd even cancelled a couple of small gigs pleading illness, something that had shocked her band and her manager. She'd tried napping, which helped, but she hadn't had the strength to call Teddy after her doctor's visit. She knew he wouldn't be terribly surprised at the news, but she didn't want to rehash the whole conundrum with him yet again.

She wanted to sort things out for herself first. The problem was, she had no idea how to do that. Tandy was no help. She launched into Teddy's case, laying out why marrying him was the only thing to do, every time she called. Deacon had always been the person Rayna relied on in tough situations. He knew exactly how to talk things over with her and help her figure a way out of a difficult spot. Without him, she was lost.

So she lay awake, placing her hands on her lower abdomen every once in a while and thinking about what was hidden inside. Deacon's baby._ Our baby_. She also seriously considered what Dr. Madsen had pointed out: She did have a choice. Maybe she didn't have to decide between Deacon and Teddy after all, between being a single mother with a child at risk or lying to someone she'd always loved so dearly.

Instead, she could put this whole thing behind her. Return to her career and concentrate on writing songs and performing. She was in a good place with her music, and it brought her true happiness. Defined her, even. Maybe it would be best to just move on.

She woke up more tired than refreshed, but she got out of bed anyway, put on her robe and made coffee. Then she opened her apartment door and stepped out into the hallway to retrieve the _Tennessean_ lying on her welcome mat.

"Well, if it's not the great Rayna Jaymes!" Dave's voice boomed from down the hallway as she straightened up with the newspaper in hand. He was approaching from the direction of the elevators, looking sweaty and spent in a pair of basketball shorts and a white T-shirt, running shoes on his feet. He was carrying a large, pink-cardboard bakery box.

Rayna smiled. "You're up and about early."

"I've already put in five miles. And picked up some bribes for the nurses," he said, nodding to the box, still breathing heavily. "Donuts never fail to soften them up. And I need them to treat me right today."

"Smart man. And good for you, with all that running. I never could get into it, but you must be in great shape."

"Oh, like you're not. Putting on those huge shows night after night must take a hell of a lot of stamina."

She looked at him in surprise and he grinned sheepishly. "I really need to apologize for being such an ignoramus before - not even knowing who you are. I realize how ridiculous I must have sounded, asking a CMA award winner what kind of work she did."

"You know what? I kind of liked that you didn't know me. Living in the spotlight all the time gets real old, real fast," Rayna said, crossing her arms and leaning against her door jamb. "How'd you figure it out?"

"Looked you up on the Internet. Read all _kinds_ of interesting things," he said, teasing.

She rolled her eyes and laughed. "Oh my gosh – I can only imagine what they're saying about me on the Internet. Must have been juicy reading."

"_Fascinating_," he confirmed with a mysterious nod.

"You know, I really want to look something up myself, but this new computer I got when I moved in – I can't figure out for the life of me how to hook it up. It's still in the box in my spare room."

Dave balanced the pink box in one hand and swept his damp hair off his forehead with the other. "Well, I'm no computer whiz, but I could see if I can help you out, if you'd like. My shift doesn't start for a few hours - and I'd sure love an excuse to sneak one of these donuts. Are you going out?"

"Nope. I have rehearsal but it's not until later this afternoon. I really don't want to take up your time, though. I know how busy you are."

"How about this: You make the coffee and I'll bring over the donut of your choice. Show me the computer and I'll see if I can't get it working, or at least figure out what you need." When Rayna hesitated, he smiled again. "You know, you really do owe me a chance to make it up to you for being such a dumbass."

She returned the smile. "Coffee's already made. You got a maple bar in that box somewhere?"

"Absolutely. Two of 'em, in fact. They're my favorites."

Rayna stepped back inside. "Mine too. Give me half an hour."

Less than 90 minutes later, Dave had Rayna's new desktop computer plugged in, booted up and connected to the Internet, its dial-up modem squawking and bleating as she logged in to her email account. When a triumphant voice announced, "You've Got Mail!" Dave high-fived Rayna, who was beaming.

"Wow - you are amazing. I guess I shouldn't be surprised. You've got that whole boy-genius thing going on, after all."

"Happy to oblige, m'am. Now, what was it you wanted to look up? I can show you a meta-search engine I like."

"Oh, it's just a quote. Something by Einstein."

"Which one? The one about stupidity and genius?"

"Uh, no. Something about … the definition of insanity?"

"Ah - you mean, 'Doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.'"

Rayna paused a moment, digesting this, and then nodded. "Huh. Yep, I bet that's it." She looked at him quizzically. "How'd you know that anyway?"

Dave laughed and ran his fingers through his bangs again, a gesture Rayna was finding increasingly endearing. "That one's pretty well-known, actually. It's not my favorite though. I like, 'Any man who can drive safely while kissing a pretty girl is simply not giving the kiss the attention it deserves.'"

Rayna laughed and swatted his arm playfully. "Einstein said _that_? Well, I'd have to agree with him on that one. Hey, you want coffee now? I can hear that maple bar calling my name from all the way out in the kitchen."

They settled themselves side-by-side on the stools at her kitchen counter, drinking coffee and eating their donuts. He asked her about her music, how she'd gotten started and what it was like to perform in front of thousands of people. She asked him about his plans for the future, where he'd done his undergraduate degree and how a starving medical student could afford to live in a building like theirs, something she'd been curious about since they'd first met. He put her off at first, but she finally got him to confess: His father was a doctor, but it was his mother who was the true computer genius. She'd been one of the early employees at Microsoft and was now worth millions, thanks to stock options.

"Ah-ha! Rich parents."

"Yeah. Don't tell anybody."

"Oh, don't worry, I know how it is."

"That's right. I read about your dad. Sounds like he owns half of Nashville."

"And has sinister designs on the other half. That's daddy, all right."

"Well, I figure my secret's safe with you then."

"My lips are sealed. In fact, I'm keeping all kinds of secrets right about now."

"And with a proper poker face, too. I like it."

"Really? I hate it," she sighed, getting up to refill their mugs. She looked at him from across the kitchen. "You know what? You're easy to talk to."

He grinned and she noticed the dimples again. "That's what my patients tell me. I always get high marks on bedside manner. Unfortunately, it's the diagnostic part that's my stumbling block."

"Yeah? Figuring out what's really wrong with people? I always thought I was pretty good at that. But I'm not so sure lately."

He picked a business card off her counter and looked at it. "The Women's Center. You go there? I would've thought someone like you would have private health insurance, from your record label or the musicians' union."

"Oh, I do. I mean, I have a private doctor. I just …" Rayna's voice faltered a little. "Hey, do you know that place?"

"Sure, I know it. I'm going into public health, remember? Community clinics are how a lot of people around the world get their health care delivered. I've taken a couple of tours over there."

"Are they … _good guys_?"

Dave frowned, looking confused. "Well, they're mostly women, actually. Not many guys work there. But if you're asking are they competent and professional – sure. They do annual exams, Pap smears, all that. But what they're really known for is providing abortions."

He glanced up at her and the look on her face stopped him flat. "Oh," he said slowly. "Wow. That was _really_ out-of-line, me going through your stuff like that." He put the card down. "I'm sorry, Rayna. It's none of my business."

"No, it's okay," Rayna said. "I just … I don't know. I might be …"

Dave waited for her to continue. "That's tough," he said finally, when she remained quiet.

"Yeah. Really tough."

She looked miserable. Like she needed someone to talk to, but didn't have anyone to listen. It was hard to believe that a woman in her position didn't have a sympathetic ear somewhere, but he recognized the lost expression on her face. He'd seen it often enough on the faces of his patients. "If I had to guess," he said slowly, "I might say this card has something to do with those secrets you were telling me about before."

Rayna nodded, staring down at her lap. "Yeah," she whispered.

He waited again, but she did not continue. She also did not change the subject, he noticed, or ask him to leave. "Well," he started, "I'm just the guy who plugged in your computer – "

"And brought me a maple bar."

"Ah yes, the maple bar. I can see that gives me certain privileges around here."

"What kind of privileges?" she asked, looking up at him. He could also see, suddenly, just how vulnerable she was. Another man might find a way to take advantage of that vulnerability right about now.

"Advice privileges. Like, maybe I could tell you my theory about keeping secrets. Would that be okay?"

She nodded. "Sure. I can use all the wisdom I can get. Even from my computer guy."

"Your _donut guy_," he corrected, and she smiled a little. "So Rayna, here's what I think about secrets. They start out light and easy. You think they don't weigh a thing, that it won't take any work to carry them. But they get heavier and heavier, the longer you drag them around."

Rayna was watching him intently, following his words.

"Letting your secret out of the bag might feel impossible right now. But it's a hell of a lot easier to do it as soon as you can, believe me. Because if you don't - if you hold onto it - one day that little secret you thought you could hide away in your back pocket is going to become a huge boulder. And it's going to stop you from moving forward. It's going to stop you from being happy."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Al-Anon

Rayna circled the block once again in front of the Westminster Presbyterian church. The parking lot behind the red-brick church was full and street parking was jammed as well. She looked into her rear view mirror and swore: A car was pulling out of a space she'd passed half a block back. Damn.

Rayna was not a church-goer but she was familiar with this particular church building. Deacon had been attending AA meetings here on and off – mostly off – for a few years. But this was the first time she'd been here to attend a meeting of her own. She had no idea what to expect.

Al-Anon was "a fellowship of relatives and friends of alcoholics who share their experience, strength, and hope in order to solve their common problems," Rayna had read, when she'd looked up the group on her new computer.

She stopped her car at the traffic light just past the church, glanced back again and saw that the space she'd missed was still open. Go around the block one more time, and if the spot is still there, that means you're meant to go inside. And if it's taken, she thought, maybe she could take that as a reminder that her favorite local boutique opened in half an hour.

Rayna really was unsure what she was doing here this lovely Saturday morning in July. And honestly she would rather have been just about anywhere else. But Jill had urged her to attend an Al-Anon meeting, and Jill felt like her lifeline right now. As much as Rayna had disliked her personally, she was the only person left who hadn't given up on Deacon. The only one who still seemed to think he had a chance to get better.

And getting Deacon better was shaping up to be Rayna's number one priority.

The road ahead of her was still hard to see. She felt like she was groping her way forward through a dense fog. But she had taken some decisive steps since she and Dave had talked earlier in the week. Everything he had said the other morning made sense to her, especially the part about how secrets might seem easy to keep at first, but were likely to backfire later on.

She'd seen the truth of that advice played out plenty of times growing up. From the time she'd been old enough to understand, she'd seen how her father conducted his affairs in secret, saying one thing to a friend or relative's face and doing the opposite later. When his lies caught up with him, he had faced some devastating consequences, though he always seemed to come out of them better off – and more underhanded - than ever.

She had always hated that, and hated the Wyatt family reputation. She had rejected not only their name but their way of life years earlier, when she'd met Deacon and decided to defy her father and follow her dream into a music career. Now, doing this awful thing that Teddy and Tandy wanted her to do, taking the easy way out, would mean going back to her roots and embracing values that she despised.

She didn't know what she was going to do, but she knew she could not go back there. And she knew she couldn't lie to Deacon. She _wouldn't_ lie to Deacon.

From day one, Rayna had had strong opinions about music and her career. More than once, record executives had described her as "headstrong" to her face. She could only imagine what they called her behind her back. But in her personal life, things had been different. Often, she'd been indecisive; dependent on someone else – a man, usually - to make choices for her.

Now, as she started to take control of her life all by herself, it was scary. But she had to admit it also felt good.

Her dinner with Teddy the night before had been emotional, of course. He had taken her to one of her favorite restaurants, but Rayna hadn't been able to eat a thing. They had already discussed the results of the paternity test on the telephone and, as she predicted, Teddy was not surprised to find out that he was not the father of her baby. He was also undaunted, however, in his resolve that the two of them should get married, start a family and leave Deacon none the wiser.

They had just placed their orders when Teddy brought up the idea again, asking if she'd given his proposal any more thought. "I have," she said, picking up her napkin and placing it in her lap. She looked at him calmly and told him the truth. "I'm still not sure what I'm going to do about this pregnancy. I may not go forward with it. But I can tell you one thing I will not do, and that's lie to Deacon. That's _not_ going to happen. So don't ask me again."

But for the next 45 minutes, in between bites of his steak and baked potato, Teddy _had_ asked, again and again. He told her why she was making the wrong move: Deacon was unstable, he couldn't stay sober, she'd be putting a child at risk if she even let a violent man like him be around it. But she had stuck to her guns. "You're not telling me anything I don't know, Teddy. But I won't lie to Deacon." Each time she said it, it felt truer and better.

Eventually, in his frustration, Teddy had trotted out Tandy's favorite argument: She wouldn't be lying to Deacon, he said. Not really. She just wouldn't be telling him _everything_.

Rayna stopped pushing the food around on her plate, put down her fork and burst out laughing. "Teddy, are you actually listening to yourself? That's the _dumbest_ thing I've ever heard!"

Her reaction seemed to annoy Teddy, who failed to see the humor in such a serious subject. He actually raised his voice. "You're trusting Deacon again and you're going to get _burned_ again, Rayna. I don't know what it's going to take for you to learn that lesson!"

"I am not trusting Deacon. I know he's got problems. For once, I'm not trusting anybody but myself to know what's right for me, Teddy. Not you or Deacon or Daddy or _anyone_ else! Now, you know what? I think I'm done here. Please take me home."

The words sounded braver than she actually felt, but it felt fantastic to say them. Teddy seemed startled by her new found independence and for a moment, Rayna thought he was going to walk out of the restaurant and leave her to call a cab. His sense of chivalry must have squelched that impulse, however, because he eventually paid the check and drove her home. But he hadn't spoken a word to her in the car and he let her out in front of her building without so much as a good night.

Rayna thought she'd feel enormously guilty afterward, but actually she felt liberated. Lighter than she had in weeks, in fact. And when her phone rang an hour later and her caller ID flashed Tandy's number, Rayna had let her answering machine pick it up.

All that courage seemed to have evaporated this morning, however, and her heart sank a little when she turned the corner and saw the still-empty parking space. She took it as a good sign, however, when she managed to parallel park on the first try, backing her car into place without hitting the curb. She unbuckled her seat belt and placed her keys in her purse.

When she looked up, she realized why parking had been so tight. An AA meeting was letting out and the people who had attended were pouring out of the front doors and down the stone steps of the church. Rayna was a good half-block away, but she spotted Coleman and started to get out of her car, hoping to catch him and get an update on Deacon. She wasn't exactly sure when he was scheduled to finish his program at Riverside.

She opened her car door and then she froze. The church doors had banged open again and Deacon had emerged, following hot on Coleman's heels. The older man stopped, as if Deacon had called to him, and turned around, giving Rayna a clear view of the two of them, seemingly engaged in a heated conversation.

Rayna was surprised to see Deacon. He usually called or came to visit as soon as he got out of rehab, but this time she hadn't heard a thing. She watched, her heart in her throat, not wanting Deacon to see her, but unable to take her eyes off of him. He looked good, very good, as he always did fresh off a trip to rehab. Even from this distance she could tell that he was clear-eyed. His hair was cut short but he had what looked like a couple days' worth of beard growth on his face. He was usually clean-shaven, but she instantly took to the stubble. It was very sexy, she thought. She wondered what it would feel like against her cheek. He'd also lost some weight. That was typical when he stopped drinking, but he hadn't gotten too thin. He looked just right – just the way she liked him, wearing jeans and his short-sleeved black T-shirt.

As she sat there, half-in and half-out of her car, Rayna ached to hold him. She always felt like there was a piece of her missing, a physical void that opened up somewhere under her rib cage, when they were apart. She never felt complete until he was back.

Today, she wanted to run to him and tell him how much she had missed him. But she kept still for several minutes, until eventually Deacon seemed to calm down. Cole put his arm around him and led him across the street. She waited until the two of them got into Coleman's car and drove off before she walked up the street and into the church.

Signs posted just inside the building directed Rayna to the room where the Al-Anon meeting was being held. She found the right room but the door was closed. She hesitated, unsure of whether she should knock or just walk in, given that the meeting would probably have started by now. She wondered if Deacon had just come out of this same room. She was nervous, but she took a few deep breaths, yanked the door open and slipped inside.

The room was narrow and drafty, as rooms in old church buildings tend to be. The tile floor must have been yellow at some point, but it was closer to gray now and the walls were painted off-white and covered with posters, felt art pieces, chalk boards and paintings of biblical characters. Looking around, Rayna was transported briefly back to her early childhood, when her mother had taken her to Baptist Sunday school.

A podium stood behind a blocky, wooden table where about a dozen women were seated. Rayna saw that Jill McClanahan, the director of The Riverside Center, was standing there addressing the group. "We welcome you to the Middle Tennessee Al-Anon Family Group and hope you will find in this fellowship the help and friendship we have been privileged to enjoy."

Rayna looked warily at her – she had not completely recovered from their last meeting. She started to take a seat in the back of the room, where a line of chairs were set up against the wall.

Immediately, Jill shook her head and motioned Rayna toward the table. One of the women seated there got up and indicated that Rayna should take her seat as she pulled another chair over. Rayna smiled briefly, chastened already, and sat down.

"We who live, or have lived, with the problem of alcoholism understand it as perhaps few others can. We, too, were lonely and frustrated, but in Al-Anon we have discovered that no situation is really hopeless. It is possible for us to find contentment, and even happiness, whether the alcoholic in our lives is still drinking or not."

Jill went on for a few minutes in this vein and Rayna couldn't tell whether she was speaking off-the-cuff or reciting something. She looked at the other women seated around her. They were of all ages and races, some dressed expensively and others on the edge of destitution. The only thing they had in common, she guessed, was a friend or family member with a drinking problem.

This world was alien to Rayna, and since she had spoken to Jill, she'd been wondering why. Clearly, other wives and girlfriends of alcoholics sought help. But during all her years with Deacon, she'd never been forced to examine her own role in his addiction. Just that thought – that she played a role - was something new for Rayna. She had always considered drinking _Deacon's_ problem, not hers. And for his part, he had never sought to draw her into rehab culture. He probably thought he was protecting her, she speculated, that she shouldn't have to bother with his troubles. So she'd always kept herself at arm's length from rehab and meetings and treatment centers. All she had done was write the checks.

Maybe it wasn't going to be enough to write checks anymore, she thought. And then she cringed, thinking that that sounded like something Jill would say. She looked up and saw that, in fact, Jill was looking at her. "I don't always say this at the beginning of the meeting," she announced, looking around the table. "But today I want to remind all of us about our confidentiality rules. Anything anyone says in this room stays _right here._ Agreed?" The participants all nodded and voiced their approval. Rayna realized that this reminder was given for her sake, and she was grateful to hear it. As she'd gotten more well-known, the media had started to cover her personal life relentlessly, focusing particularly on Deacon's problems. She knew that a story about her attending Al-Anon would be quite a scoop.

Jill took a seat and smiled at the small, silver-haired woman to her right.

"Hi, I'm Janet, and my husband is an alcoholic," the woman began. "Hi, Janet," the group responded. Janet twitched and rubbed her hands together nervously but she continued, telling the group about how she had decided to do something nice for herself the previous week. She had gone to get a manicure and then treated herself to lunch with a girlfriend. The group members applauded when they heard this, as if Janet had won an award or gotten a promotion.

Rayna was surprised that Janet didn't mention her husband's drinking problem. In fact, none of the women touched on the addiction or alcoholism of their partners as each person around the table shared something. If they weren't going to talk about the core issue, Rayna wondered, what was the point of this group anyway?

Finally, it was her turn. She looked over at Jill, who simply nodded at her.

"Hi, I'm Rayna," she said, feeling silly. She realized that most of the women had recognized her when she walked through the door. "And, um, well, this is my first time here, so …" her voice trailed off. But the women applauded anyway and all of them welcomed her, smiling. She looked up and smiled back, relieved, then glanced at the clock, realizing that the hour was nearly up.

Jill stood up again and led the group in reciting aloud the Twelve Steps, which Rayna knew were from AA but had never read all the way through. The woman sitting to her left, Nancy, handed Rayna a printed list so she could say the words along with the group. There were some brief announcements and one member promised to bring snacks to the next meeting. And then it was over.

Rayna stood up and chatted with several of the members as they enjoyed the cookies and sweet tea that had been laid out on a side table set with a jug of colorful sweet pea blossoms. Nancy and Janet both came over to tell her they were glad she was there. None of them mentioned her singing or asked her why she was at the meeting, showing restraint that she admired; surely they were all curious. Before long, the room had emptied out except for Rayna and Jill, who was busy straightening the chairs and cleaning up the snack table.

She threw away the last dirty napkin and looked over at Rayna. "I'm glad you made it," she said.

Rayna swallowed and took a deep breath. "Thanks for asking me to come. I wonder - do you have a few minutes? If there isn't another meeting in here right now, I'd like to talk to you. If you have time."

"Sure. I don't have to start back for Riverside right away," Jill said, sitting down at the table. Rayna pulled out the chair across from her and sat down too, not sure how to start – or even what it was that she wanted to ask.

It turned out that Rayna didn't have to rack her brain. Jill looked her up and down for a moment and then cocked her head, her eyes narrowed. "So, you knocked up?" she asked, as if she were inquiring about whether the tea was too sweet.

"What?" Rayna sat back in her chair.

Jill just raised her eyebrows and looked pointedly at her. "Are you _pregnant_, is what I'm asking."

"Yeah, I _got_ that, I just …" Rayna said. Then she rolled her eyes and shook her head in disbelief. "How did you know?"

"I used to be a nun, remember? Still got a direct line to the Almighty," Jill said, with a straight face. Now it was Rayna's turn to stare. After a moment, Jill smiled. "After our last conversation, I figured I'd never see hide nor hair of you again. As soon as you walked in that door, I knew you must have a real good reason to be here."

Rayna nodded. "I do."

"You thinking about an abortion?"

Rayna's mouth fell open again. "What the _hell_? I thought you said you were a nun!"

Jill smiled. "Yeah, I _was_. Past tense. Are you thinking about it?"

The woman was utterly infuriating. Rayna shook her head again, half-astonished and fully exasperated, but Jill was still looking at her, waiting for an answer. Rayna took a deep breath and unexpected tears sprang to her eyes, much to her annoyance. She would be _goddamned_ if she was going to cry right now. Instead, she looked up at the ceiling, trying to keep the tears from falling.

"_I can't_," she said. "I just can't." Rayna hadn't realized until just then, as the words came out, that she'd made her decision. She looked back at Jill, who was watching her intently. "I want this. I've wanted it for years. It was just never the right time in my career, or Deacon wasn't ready or – something. I just … I can't pass up this chance."

Jill smiled again and reached for Rayna's hand. "Good girl," she said.

Rayna took the hand that was extended to her. "I thought you didn't care."

"I never said that," Jill responded. "Does Deacon know?"

Rayna shook her head. "No, I … I wasn't really sure until just now that I was going through with it. I haven't even thought about how I'm going to tell him. I'm not really sure how he's going to feel about it."

"And you're afraid that if you do tell him, it'll be such a shock that he'll start drinking again."

Rayna considered this and realized that it was exactly what she was afraid of. She took her hand from Jill's and wiped her cheek, where a stray tear had trickled out despite her best efforts. "What if it's too much for him, this big a change in his life so soon after rehab? Coleman always tells him not to make any big decisions right away."

"And he won't be making any decisions. He won't have to – you've already done that."

"But isn't this the wrong time for him to be faced with all this responsibility?"

Jill looked at Rayna a long time. "Maybe. I don't think anybody's really ready for all the responsibility that comes with having a family. But you know what? How Deacon responds is on _Deacon_, not on you."

Rayna nodded. "I know – I'm just scared for him," she said.

"Well, stop being scared! Deacon's a big boy. You're going to have a real baby to mother before long; you're going to have to stop coddling him."

Rayna's brow furrowed and she looked away. Was that what she'd been doing? Caring about him too much? But not worrying about him, not being concerned over how he'd feel about being a father – she wasn't sure she could do that.

Jill seemed to sense her struggle. "Rayna, if you keep coming to Al-Anon, you're going to hear a lot about something we call 'detachment with love.' It doesn't mean you can't still love Deacon, but it does mean that you're going to have to stop trying to save him, like you've been doing for – what is it, 10 years?"

"Eleven," Rayna said slowly, trying to understand. Something else came to her mind and she looked back over at Jill. "`Doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result,'" she recited. "That's it, isn't it? What you said last time about Einstein and insanity?"

Jill smiled again. "Yes. You'll hear that a lot here, too."

"That's what we've been doing all this time, isn't it? The same thing over and over – and it never works. But what _will_ work? How should I tell him about this baby? What if he-" she took a deep breath, so full of questions that she could hardly get them all out. She knit her hands together in her lap. "Maybe I should be detached, or whatever you call it. But you don't know Deacon when he's drinking. He's violent; he doesn't know what he's doing. I just can't have him around a child if he's like that."

"Well, then make sure he knows that. I think that's actually going to be a relief to him, to hear that from you. He doesn't want to hurt anyone. I'm sure you realize that."

"I do," Rayna said, nodding. "I've always said that. It's like, when he's drinking – he turns into a different person. That's not the real Deacon."

Jill pursed her lips. "Rayna, how much do you know about his childhood – his family of origin?"

Rayna considered, surprised by the question. "Hmm … not a lot, actually. I mean, I know there wasn't much money. They lived in a small town, his father worked in a factory - when he was sober enough to get there. I do know his daddy was an alcoholic. Deacon's always saying that he's just like him."

"Has he told you that there was abuse?"

"Noooo," Rayna said, slowly. "I mean, he's mentioned spankings or maybe his daddy taking his belt to him once in a while. But that was pretty common when we were coming up. Still is, in a lot of places. 'Spare the rod and spoil the child.' We hear that one a lot."

Jill seemed to be considering saying more, but she stopped herself and checked her watch. "I'm sorry, Rayna, I really need to be going," she said, pushing her chair back.

Rayna stopped her, reaching across the table and placing her hand on Jill's. "Thank you," she said. "I appreciate your talking to me like this."

"Happy to," Jill said. "In fact, why don't we meet for a few minutes again next week, after the meeting. If you're planning to come back?"

"Yes," Rayna said. "I don't really understand what we're here for - but yeah. I'll come back."

"Good. And meanwhile, don't forget what I said about detachment with love. You're going to have to love Deacon enough to allow him to learn from his own mistakes. And you're going to have to decide to be responsible for your own welfare – and your child's – without trying to control him in the process."

"Should I tell him? I mean, about the baby?"

Jill smiled. "Well, it'll be obvious pretty soon, won't it? Don't you think he has a right to know about his daughter before everybody can see it for themselves?"

"Yeah, I guess. I just don't want us to get right back into that routine, like you talked about, where he gets lazy."

"Well then, don't. Give him some room for a while. He needs to find a way to make his recovery about _him_. Not about you – or her. That's going to take time."

Rayna nodded slowly as Jill got up from the table and started putting papers into a leather satchel that she slung over her shoulder. The two of them walked out of the room together and down the hall. Then Rayna stopped abruptly.

"_How'd you know_? I mean, how did you know that the baby's a girl?"

"Wisdom, my dear," Jill said airly. "And I've got a direct line to heaven, like I told you."

Rayna stared at her, open-mouthed, until Jill laughed and started walking. She got about five feet away before she looked back over her shoulder at Rayna. "Oh _come on_! I had a 50-50 shot - I took it."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

A Life That's Good

"Hey, darlin'!"

Rayna was sitting on top of their picnic table soaking up the sun, her bare feet – toenails painted red – resting on the bench. Her smile when she heard his greeting and looked up at him, one hand shading her eyes, took his breath away. Deacon shoved his keys in his pocket, picked up the flowers he'd brought for her and slammed the door of his truck.

He hurried across the road and jumped down onto the grass, his eyes never leaving her. Even from this distance, he thought he noticed something different about her, but he couldn't quite figure out what it was. Her hair? That was usually what she changed. It was parted on the side and pulled away from her face in the front, cascading in waves over her shoulders; pretty much the way she'd been wearing it lately. She didn't have much makeup on, but that wasn't unusual for a summer afternoon. The sleeveless blue sundress she wore was long, tucked over her knees, and maybe looser than usual. But that didn't seem so terribly different, either.

"Hey," she said, climbing off the table as he walked to her. She held her arms out and he kissed her on the cheek, embracing her briefly.

"You look so pretty, darlin'. You're a sight for sore eyes. Here, I got you these." He handed her the flowers, a bright mixture of yellow and white daisies and light blue irises.

"Thank you," she murmured, admiring the flowers and then laying them down on the far edge of the table, next to her bejeweled sandals and purse. She turned and kissed him on the cheek, resting her face against his for a moment before pulling back and looking up at him.

"What?"

"This. It's new," she said, running her fingers through his beard.

"Yeah," he said, smiling. "I kinda got outta the habit of shavin' everyday up at Riverside. Then when I got back to town I figured I might keep it a while. You like it?"

"It looks good on you," she said, still stroking his cheek. "It's softer than I thought."

He grinned again and brought his right hand up to his chin, rubbing it. "Yeah? I was thinkin' maybe it looked like I was sleepin' on a bus bench or somethin'. But if you like it, I guess it's okay."

"I like it. You look great."

He took his familiar place on the table, leaning his elbows on his knees and looking out over the water. She sat next to him.

"How're you feeling, Deacon?"

"Good. Real good. They got a terrific program up there at Riverside. Best I ever been through. And I'm makin' some changes, doin' some things different this time. It's all gonna turn around for me, Ray."

She nodded, but looked skeptical. He wasn't surprised. He was nearly always optimistic when he first completed a program. She knew, as well as he did, that it was only later when things tended to go downhill for him.

"I was kind of surprised I didn't hear from you when you got back," she said.

Deacon couldn't shake the feeling that something was different about her, but he couldn't put his finger on it. "Well, I been wantin' to see you darlin'. But I wasn't sure where things stood after you came up to visit. And I wasn't real sure you'd want to see me, anyway."

"Why'd you think that?"

"Well," he said, glancing over at her, "I hear Coleman told you to steer clear of me. That right?"

"Yeah. He did."

"Guess you been hearin' that from a lot of folks, huh?"

"That's nothing new, babe."

He shifted uneasily. "Well, I hope you're not listenin' to 'em Ray, 'cause things are gonna change. I promise you. I turned over a new leaf up at that clinic. I was thinkin' the other day the two of us oughta take some time off. Get away for a while, y'know? Maybe buy ourselves a little cabin up in the mountains, someplace we can be alone. Get reacquainted." He slipped his right arm around her and reached up to rub her neck. "Whattaya think?"

Rayna stiffened and turned to look at him. "I thought you weren't supposed to make big decisions right away. Isn't that what they always tell you?"

"Yeah, that's what they say. But damn it, you deserve somethin' special, darlin'. Waitin' for me all this time."

He spoke the last sentence with a sense of certainty that he wasn't really feeling. _Had_ she been waiting for him? She didn't seem like herself today. Maybe his instincts had been right after all, when she'd come to see him up at Riverside. He had spent the past three weeks talking himself out of it, but maybe she was getting serious with Teddy Conrad and wanted to tell him so. Wanted to tell him - _what_? That the two of them were getting married? _God, no._ The thought made him sick to his stomach.

"You _have_ been waitin' for me, haven't you Ray? Or are you still seein' Teddy Conrad?"

"This is not about Teddy, Deacon. I asked you to meet me here so we could talk about us."

_Here it was_. He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. "Baby, you want to break up with me, just do it. You don't have to worry about sparin' my feelin's."

"Deacon-"

"Look, I may not be a genius, Ray, but I'm not stupid either. You tried to tell me about you an' Teddy when you came up to visit me, and I blew it. I'm a _damn drunk._ I'm not surprised you're done with me."

Rayna heaved a sigh and let her head fall forward into her hands. "God Deacon, you always have to be such a martyr. Will you just _listen_ to me for a minute?"

He climbed off the table and stood facing her. "Rayna, I'm listenin'! Just come on out and say it – you don't have to pretty it up. Just get it over with!"

"Okay." She didn't raise her voice but he could tell she was getting angry. "You want to hear it? You want to know why I called you this morning!?"

"Yeah! I do."

She took a deep breath but her voice dropped to a shaky whisper before the words came out. "I'm pregnant."

Two small words, but they could have been uttered in another language, they were so incomprehensible to Deacon. He stared at her. Surely he had heard wrong. "What?"

She looked at him, steely-eyed. "You heard me, Deacon."

The wind went out of him, all at once. He felt like he'd been sucker-punched in a bar fight. He sank back down onto the bench, his knees weak. He looked up at her. He'd always feared he might lose her for good someday but he had never dreamed it would be like this.

"You – you and Teddy. You're ... havin' a baby?" The words tasted bitter in his mouth; he could barely get them out.

But she was shaking her head. "No. It's your baby, Deacon."

Now he was sure he had heard wrong. He just stared at her.

"We did a paternity test. It's not Teddy's. It's yours."

The look on her face was apprehensive, suddenly. It was clear she was on tenterhooks awaiting his response. But Deacon felt like he was incapable of speaking. Finally, he sputtered out the question that loomed large in his mind: "How? How is that even _possible_, Ray? It can't be."

Tears sprang to her eyes and she looked away. He felt acutely guilty, though he didn't know why. He climbed back up on the table to sit next to her as she shook her head and wiped her eyes. She looked back at him, the devastation plain on her face.

"You really don't _remember_, do you?"

Oh god. Just this morning, after a meeting, he had told Gus that he'd forgotten more than he'd remembered over the past two years. But forgetting about being with Rayna? That couldn't be. _Could it_? A sense of dread formed in the pit of his stomach just thinking about it.

She turned away from him, digging through her purse for a minute before lifting out a small, red-velvet bag shut with a gold-tasseled drawstring. She opened it and pulled out a ring, handing it to him.

"Does that look familiar?"

Deacon examined it. It was an old-fashioned silver ring with a circle of small diamonds around it. _An eternity band._ That's what the jewelry store salesman had called it. He remembered how much he'd liked that phrase. He'd tucked it into the back of his mind, thinking he might use it in a song lyric someday.

He looked up at Rayna, who was staring at him curiously. "I bought this for you," he said slowly, his eyes shifting across the water. "It reminded me of the one my Grandma Dillon wore. She was married to my grandpa almost 60 years. My mama buried her with the ring still on her finger. Said she couldn't bear to take it off her, even after she was dead. That's how much grandma loved that man."

Her voice brought him back to the present. "You gave it to me, Deacon. Back in April, after you got home from that rehab center in Colorado. I hadn't seen you for months. But you called me, said you knew I was dating Teddy, and you wanted to talk to me. So I met you out at the house and we had dinner."

He raised his eyebrows. All this was news to him.

"You gave me that ring. And we ... I stayed the night out there with you. And in the morning, you weren't in bed when I woke up. I went to the family room and found you passed out on the couch, dead drunk."

Suddenly, snatches of that morning came back to him. Bits and pieces, like the gossamer threads of a dream that evaporates as soon as you open your eyes. She had been angry. She'd taken the ring off her finger and thrown it on the floor. He'd scrambled to pick it up. Pleaded with her to forgive him. Vivid in his mind was the fear that he'd finally screwed things up with her for good.

There was something else. Something important that he didn't remember. He had to ask. "You said yes? You said you'd marry me, Ray?"

"Yeah, I did," she whispered. "That night … that must have been when it happened." She looked up at him, her eyes enormous and uncertain.

He realized he'd been holding his breath. They were talking around something huge, something he couldn't begin to fully fathom. He thought back again and something else occurred to him. "At Riverside. That day you came up to visit. You were sick. I thought you were gonna lose your lunch, just lookin' at all that food. You said somethin' didn't sit right, but that wasn't it, was it? You knew, even back then."

"That's right. I forgot all about that." She was still staring at him, looking like someone standing at the edge of a cliff, wondering if he was going to take her hand and jump with her or make her go over alone. "I wanted to tell you that day, but I couldn't. I wasn't sure what I was going to do. I wasn't sure of anything. And then you got _mad_ at me." She looked down at her hands, clasped in her lap, and brought them to her mouth, trying to stifle a sob.

He still wasn't sure exactly what all this meant. But he could never stand to see her cry. Compassion flooded through him, overwhelming his confusion. He pocketed the ring quickly and scooted closer to her, drawing her into his arms. "Oh, darlin'. Please don't cry. _Please_, Ray."

His entreaty was lost in the flood of tears that seemed to be unleashed by his physical presence. She put her arms around his waist and strained to hold him as close as she could, sobbing into his shoulder. It was as if - _finally_ - she could let go of all the stress and uncertainty of the past six weeks, now that she was safe in his arms. He held her tightly against him, one hand stroking her hair, making soothing noises deep in his throat.

"Shhh … it's okay now. It's okay, darlin'. I'm here now." He rocked her gently, feeling tears spring to his own eyes and a lump form in his throat. Then he felt her hands, yanking insistently on the back of his shirt, pulling it up so that she could slide her bare arms underneath it, making contact with his skin. Deacon felt his heartbeat quicken as every fiber in his being responded to her touch. He had missed her so much. Since he'd been home he had thought about her again and again, replaying what it felt like when she was moving under him, looking up at him, her face transformed by ecstasy.

She continued stroking his back as he started kissing her - her hair, her ear, her neck. _Did she want sex?_ His mind went immediately to a particular clearing a couple minutes' walk into the nearby woods. They had made good use of that spot, grateful for the thick tree cover, more than once. He could take her hand and lead her there blindfolded, if he had to. That was how indelibly the experiences had seared themselves into his mind. Why did he always remember the wrong things?

But then she took a deep, shuddering breath and exhaled another noisy sob. He could feel his shirt collar getting soaked with the onslaught of her tears. Putting her hands on him wasn't about sex, he realized, it was about her needing to be close to him. _Get a fucking grip, Claybourne._ This was the kind of thinking that had gotten them into this situation in the first place, after all.

Eventually she began to calm down, her breathing becoming more regular, and he loosened his arms around her, trying to sort out the details in his head.

"Rayna, are you tellin' me that we - _you and me_ - we're gonna have a kid?"

She sniffled and nodded, her head still on his shoulder. "Yeah. I should have told you before, babe. I knew it was yours, deep down. But I had to get the paternity test first." She pulled back and looked him, strands of damp hair sticking to her tear-stained face. "Teddy wanted me to marry him, and Tandy kept telling me that I should just marry Teddy and do the paternity test later, and Coleman said I should cut you loose or you'd never get better. I just - I didn't know what to do. And then I wasn't even sure I was going to go through with it."

Deacon looked at her, astonished all over again. "You weren't gonna _go through with it_?"

"Well, I thought about that. About not having it. But I just couldn't do it."

"Darlin', I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry I wasn't here with you. You shouldn't have had to decide all this by yourself."

His arms were still loosely clasped around her waist, their faces close together. "You know what?" she said. "It wasn't all bad, thinking things through for myself for a change. And Dave helped. And my doctor. She's been wonderful. I just saw her for my three-month checkup yesterday."

Deacon let go of her and pulled a handkerchief out of his back pocket, handing it to her. She wiped her face with it and drew her fingers through her hair. Meanwhile, he mentally ran through the names of their band members, their musician friends and Rayna's circle of cousins, even getting to distant relatives. He still couldn't place the name. "_Dave?_ Who's that?

"Oh, he's my new neighbor. He's a great guy; a doctor." She handed back the handkerchief and sat down on the table again, considerably calmer now. "That's right, you haven't seen my new apartment. I had to move. Mr. Lewis wanted me out of the old place. Said the neighbors complained about me."

Deacon winced. So much had happened in her life that he'd missed. He hated himself all over again for not being there. "Complained about_ you?_ More like complained about _me_, probably."

She made a wry face, but didn't look at him.

"Rayna, tell me everything that's been goin' on. Please."

She nodded at him and the words came out of her mouth in a rush. "Well, I'm due in February. A week before your birthday, actually. I haven't told anybody yet. I mean, Teddy and Tandy know, and I'm sure Tandy's told Daddy by now. But I haven't said anything to Bucky or anyone at Edgehill. They're probably wondering what's wrong with me, I've been so tired lately. I was feeling sick for a while, so I haven't gained any weight. But Dr. Madsen says everything's fine, everything with the baby is right on track. She said I'm going to start putting on the pounds pretty soon. I've been eating like a horse for the last week, that's for sure," she smiled weakly at this and looked up at him, her eyes shining with hope.

He looked down at her stomach and she followed his gaze. "It's not – I'm not showing yet. I think I'll have to get some new clothes pretty soon, though. My jeans were tight when I went to put them on this morning."

Deacon felt his heart beating fast as the reality started to sink in. Doctors. A baby. February. It was all so concrete, all of a sudden, out of nowhere. To say he hadn't been expecting this when she'd called him that morning was the understatement of the year. He took a deep breath, feeling like he was going to jump out of his skin. He stood up; he couldn't possibly sit still another minute. Then he started walking back and forth in front of the picnic table, running his hands through his hair.

A baby. Rayna's baby. _His baby._ Was it possible? It was not only possible, it was really happening. February. But that was so soon. It would be here before they knew it. What would he _do_? He couldn't be a father; didn't know the first thing about it. And what would happen if-? He let out a groan.

Rayna watched him, a baffled expression on her face. "Babe, what are you doing?"

He stopped walking and looked over at her. "Whattaya mean?"

"You. You're - I don't know. You're ..._ pacing_ or something."

He looked distracted for a moment, then put his head down and went back to walking. She smiled. "Deacon, calm down. It's not like I'm in labor."

"_Labor!?_" He stopped walking and stared at her.

She laughed this time. "Babe, seriously, everything's going to be okay."

"Yeah, well, that's easy for you to say. You've had all kinds of time to figure this out. I'm just tryin' to understand it, you know?" He looked away for a moment, not sure he should tell her what he was feeling. Then he looked back at her. "Rayna, I don't know if I can be a daddy. I mean, I know I don't have a choice in that matter. I get that this is my responsibility. But I don't really think I'm father material, you know? I'm scared that I might …" his voice trailed off and he looked away again.

Rayna seemed to steel herself, sitting up and squaring her shoulders. "Deacon, I want you to know something right now. I will not_ ever_ put a defenseless child through what I've gone through with you these past few years. I want you to be part of our lives; I want that _so much_. But you've got to want it, too. You've got to figure out a way to do it right this time."

He turned to stare at her, a haunted look in his eyes.

"If you're sober, and you can stay that way, you will be the best daddy in the world. I know that in my heart; I haven't got any doubt about it. But if you can't stay sober, then I will do everything in my power to keep you away from this baby. To keep you from hurting it. _Everything_."

His eyes narrowed. "What're you sayin', Rayna? Are you threatenin' to sic Lamar on me?"

"I will do _whatever it takes_ to protect this child, Deacon. I can promise you that." There was a fierce light in her eyes. Deacon had seen it only once before. They'd been in a negotiation with a record executive who was trying to get her to sign a terrible contract, one that would have swindled both of them. She had looked at that man with this same ferocious stare. And he had backed down.

Deacon's shoulders slumped and he looked down. "Good for you, Rayna. You do whatever it takes to keep me away. That's what I want, too."

"_Deacon_," she said softly, getting up and walking to him. She put her hands on his face and looked into his eyes. "I know what you want. _You want this._ You want a family – you always have." His eyes swam with tears as she started humming, then sang quietly, "_Two arms around me, heaven to ground me, and family that always draws me home. Four wheels to get there, enough love to share, and a sweet, sweet, sweet song_."

By the time she finished the phrase, his tears were falling freely. She wiped his cheeks with her thumbs. "Didn't you write that about a half hour after you met me?"

He smiled a little. "I wrote that about five minutes after I first laid eyes on you, Ray. I hadn't even met you yet. I took one look at you, singin' up there on stage at the Bluebird, and I knew you were what I wanted."

"You did. And you still want that, Deacon, I know you do."

"That's just a song, Rayna. Just a dream. It's not real."

"It _is_ real, Deacon," she said. "It's standing right here in front of you. I'm right here." She took his hand and placed it on her lower belly, holding it in place. "_We're_ right here, rooting for you. Now all you've got to do is come home to us."

He took a deep breath and wiped the back of his hand across his face. "I don't know, Ray. I don't know if I can. I've been tryin', all this time. I've been tryin' to do it for you, and I just can't seem to make it stick."

"Maybe that's the problem. You're doing it for the wrong reason, Deacon. You've got to do this for yourself. Because you _deserve it_. You deserve happiness." He shook his head at that, starting to protest, but she insisted. "Yes, you do! I know you better than anyone and I _know_ it's true, Deacon Claybourne. Have you ever heard what Einstein said about insanity?"

He laughed, shaking his head and looking up at the sky. "_Oh god_, not you too, Ray. You gonna start quotin' Einstein at me now, like everybody up at Riverside?"

"_Jesus_, Deacon! Maybe they're right. You ever thought of that? We can't go back to where we were. Not now."

They stood looking at each other for a long time. "Ray," he said at last. "I want you to move back up to the house. You should take the place. I've got so much space, I don't need it. I ... I can sleep upstairs. Or I'll move out if you want. You should be there. You and," he looked back at her stomach again. "You and the kid."

"No," she said, shaking her head and stepping over to the table to pick up her sandals. She slipped them on her feet. "I'm fine where I'm at; it's a real nice place. Tandy picked it out, if that tells you anything. I've got a spare room where I've got my computer set up. I can put a crib in there when I need it."

"What about Teddy? You said he wants you to marry him."

She sighed. "Yeah. Teddy's not very happy with me. I turned down his proposal, more than once. He thinks I'm making a big mistake. They all do. But you know what? They can think what they want."

"What about you and me, Ray?"

She hesitated. "We don't have to decide anything right now. We've got six months. Let's just see how things go."

Deacon grimaced, not wanting her to walk away like this. "Darlin', I wanna get you something. Help you out. What do you need?"

She smiled and picked up the flowers. "These are all I need from you right now. These and your promise that you're going to work hard at getting better. Okay?" She leaned in to kiss him on the cheek, caressing his cheek again briefly. Then she turned to pick up her purse. "I've got to go to rehearsal, and then I've got to go home and take my nap. I've got a gig tonight. That's what I do now: I take naps. Can you believe it?"

He smiled, watching her slip the purse over her shoulder and head for her car.

"Rayna." He stopped her, putting one hand on her arm. She turned back to look at him. "I love you, darlin'."

She smiled, sadly he thought. "Take care, Deacon," she said. "I'll talk to you soon."

She walked up the stairs to the road, got into her car and drove off. Deacon sat down on the picnic table again. He stayed there a long time, looking out over the water. Finally, he shoved his hands into his pockets and his fingers closed around his keys. Then he felt something else. He pulled out the silver ring and looked at it.

_I wanna get better, darlin', I want that so much. I just wish I knew if it was even possible._


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Second Trimester

"Oh my gosh – all these beautiful outfits and I'm not going to be able to wear _any_ of them for who knows how long!" Rayna gazed at the sea of clothing scattered across her queen-sized bed and crossed her arms over her chest with a long sigh.

"It won't be forever, honey. You'll be back in these things again before you know it. And by then, guess what? It'll be like they're brand new." Tandy smiled, handing over a clutch of hangers. "Here – these things might just work a little while longer. Try them on."

Rayna unwound her robe and tossed it onto a nearby armchair. She gazed at her body, clad only in a bra and panties, in the full-length mirror nearby. She had always watched her diet and worked out, but she'd also been lucky. She'd taken after the Wyatt side of her family, where everyone was naturally tall and slender.

But now that she was in her second trimester, it was obvious that her body was changing. It was exciting – but also unnerving – to watch her long-familiar planes and angles filling out into curves. She'd had to pick up larger-sized bras and her tummy was definitely swelling; so much so that she'd called her sister in for a wardrobe consult.

Tandy had dropped over on her lunch hour to help Rayna decide what she could – and couldn't - get away with for another month or so. She'd also agreed to take the bulk of Rayna's extensive wardrobe back to her house, where she had ample storage space. Rayna's apartment had just two clothes closets, her own and the one in her spare room. She expected that one to begin filling up with baby clothes and gear before too long.

Rayna shrugged into a loose-fitting, sleeveless striped jumper, finding that it still buttoned up the front. "See? There's one that'll work just fine for a while," Tandy said, brightly.

"How come it's all the _ugly stuff_ that still fits?" Rayna grumbled.

"Well, it's not like you own a lot of clothes that aren't skin tight, Miss Miniskirt," Tandy said, smiling and shaking her head.

Rayna rolled her eyes and struggled into a blouse and short skirt. She reached back but found that the waistband wouldn't close. Tandy shook her head. "No good. Hand it over," she said. "When do we get to go shopping for maternity clothes?"

"Ugh – have you seen that stuff? Plaids and big puffy bows? It doesn't look like you're _having_ a child, it looks like you're _becoming_ a child."

"Oh, come on. They've got some better-looking styles now. Besides, think of all the fun we'll have getting a new wardrobe for you."

They smiled at each other.

Although Tandy had made it clear that she thought Rayna was unwise to turn down Teddy's marriage proposal, she and her sister had made up quickly. Rayna needed her. And Tandy wasn't about to be left out of this exciting time in her little sister's life.

Rayna had just stripped down to her underwear again when her computer made a chirping noise. Rayna tossed the too-small items to Tandy and hurried into the other bedroom, stopping in front of a desk and bending down to look at the screen. She smiled and tapped something out on the keyboard.

"What's that?" Tandy asked, appearing in the doorway.

"My AIM," Rayna said, adding "AOL instant messenger" when Tandy looked at her blankly. Rayna watched the screen intently for a moment and then laughed when another chirp sounded.

"Someone's sending you messages? Who?"

"Dave, my next-door neighbor. He's so funny. He IM's me from the doctor's lounge at Vanderbilt when he's on break. He keeps teasing me about when I'm going to get him tickets to a show so he can finally hear me sing."

"The _doctor's lounge_?" Tandy inquired.

Rayna looked up when she heard her sister's tone. "Oh stop it," she scoffed, "we're just friends."

Tandy raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"Do I need to remind you that I'm not exactly in the right shape to be looking for a _man_ at this moment?" Rayna said, placing her hands on her burgeoning abdomen.

Tandy tilted her head, studying her sister critically for a moment, then gasped. "Oh my god! You're back with Deacon!"

"No, I'm not," Rayna snapped crossly, leaving the computer and returning to her bedroom.

"Honey, you can't fool me. You've got that dreamy look on your face just thinking about him."

"Tandy, you're nuts, you know that?" Rayna muttered, pulling another dress over her head in hopes of changing the subject. "What do you think about this?" She smoothed her hands over her belly and turned sideways, looking in the mirror. A small but obvious tummy pooched out, straining the black silk fabric. "Damn it!"

"You've seen him though, haven't you?"

Rayna pulled the too-tight black number over her head, wrestling with it as the zipper got caught up in her hair, then threw it on the bed. Annoyed, she faced her sister, hands on her hips, a hunk of hair sticking out comically to one side.

"Yeah, I saw him. What're you going to do about it, shoot me?" she asked, turning away to gather up the remaining items of clothing from her bed. "Call me crazy, but I happen to think a man who has a child coming into this world deserves to hear about it in person."

The doorbell rang. Rayna picked up her robe and looked over at Tandy. "Hey, would you get that? It's Bucky. He's bringing over lunch. He and I have some _serious_ planning to do."

Tandy wasn't finished discussing Deacon, but she turned reluctantly and left the bedroom, shutting the door behind her. Rayna hung her robe on the hook in her bathroom, then looked in the mirror and smoothed her hair down. She selected a pair of pants and a shirt from the small pile of clothes that still fit and slowly pulled them on.

Tandy's inquiry reminded her of how much she regretted the way she'd told Deacon about the baby. Blurting it out angrily was hardly how she'd imagined letting him know he was going to be a father. Breaking the news over a romantic dinner, or cuddled up in bed with him on a lazy Sunday morning. That was much closer to what she'd envisioned.

She thought back on that day in the park, now close to a month ago. It had been wrenching to walk away from him after he'd said he loved her. But she'd done it. And she'd stuck with her plan to give him time to concentrate on his recovery. They hadn't seen each other since that day, though he'd been calling in the evenings once or twice a week.

The telephone conversations would start pretty typically. "Hey Ray, how you doin'?" But now he always followed up with another question: "And how's _the kid?_" It made Rayna smile, hearing the shy concern in his voice, and the way he always referred to the baby as "the kid." Somehow, she couldn't bring herself to tell him that they were having a girl. Not yet. She would keep that little detail to herself for a while.

She knew Deacon still felt ambivalent about becoming a father, but at least the news hadn't caused him to fall off the wagon. She worried, at first, when he told her that he'd argued with Coleman and asked him to step aside as his sponsor. She suspected that it was Cole's advice to her to cut Deacon loose that had caused a rift between the two men.

But she felt better when Deacon told her that his counselor from rehab had agreed to sponsor him. She hadn't met Gus, but it sounded like the two of them had developed the kind of casual, teasing banter that always seemed to put Deacon at ease with people.

Now, she buttoned her pants, straightened her shirt, and walked out into her living room, where Tandy and Bucky were laying out sandwiches and chips on the coffee table. "Thank you for lunch, babe," she said, walking over to give Bucky a hug and a kiss.

"Happy to do it. How's the mama-to-be?" he said, taking a seat and smiling as he fixed himself a plate. Tandy disappeared into the kitchen, promising to return with the drinks.

"Well, the mama-to-be needs to go _shopping_. She's growing out of all her clothes," Rayna announced, smiling as she sat down on the couch across from Bucky. He'd been the first person to greet the news of her pregnancy with unreserved joy and she was still basking in his happy reaction. He'd been truly wonderful about the whole thing, especially since the two of them had spent considerable time planning a major concert tour for early the next year.

That would have to be put on hold indefinitely now. And what direction her career would take next, and how she was going to formally announce her pregnancy, were on today's agenda.

Bucky started right in. "I've been thinking, Ray. How about this: Why don't we have you go back into the studio this fall? That new song you've been rehearsing is dynamite. I know that's going to hit big as a single – and that'll be a great excuse for you to release a new album."

Rayna picked up a sandwich and a napkin and turned to take the glass of iced tea that Tandy was offering her. "Hmmm. I think we can do that. Why not? You really believe 'This Love Ain't Big Enough' is going to hit, huh? I mean, I love it. But I love all of them, you know that. You're the pro when it comes to predicting what's going to get airplay and what's not."

"Oh, this is definitely going to get played on the radio. I could see it hitting the top of the country charts. Maybe even crossing over into the top 10 on the pop charts."

Rayna gasped and then smiled. "Really? That's fantastic!"

"Well, it's a fantastic song," he said, putting down his half-eaten sandwich. "And you've definitely got enough quality material to build an album around it. I'll get working on that, then." He looked at her, his face turning apprehensive. "So, here's the other part. And hear me out, because I'm afraid you're not going to like this very much."

Both Rayna and Tandy, who had fixed herself a plate and sat down on the couch, stared at him. "What is it?" Rayna finally asked.

"Edgehill is really hot on the idea of you and Deacon playing some dates together. Not a full-blown tour but at least hitting a few of the well-known smaller venues."

"What the hell?!" Rayna nearly choked on her ham sandwich, fuming. "Don't tell me: They're thrilled that they can exploit my personal situation."

Bucky cringed. "Well, they'd never say that. But that's pretty much what it comes down to, yeah."

"Well, I can't do it! You know how much it means to me, keeping my private life private. What're they calling it, the 'love child tour'? I'm surprised I didn't see this one coming."

"I knew you'd hate the idea," he said apologetically. "I told them that you'd want no part of it, but they're insisting. You'll have to come in and talk them out of it, Ray. I'll just advise you - don't even mention the 'love child tour.' The promotions team would be all over that like white on rice."

Rayna groaned and rolled her eyes. "Buck, you know that Deacon and I are taking a break right now while he's getting back on his feet. Everything between us is totally up in the air. The last thing we need to be doing is getting up on stage and singing love songs to each other for the next six months."

"Well, it wouldn't be six months. It'd probably just be a handful of dates. I think we could persuade them to keep things pretty low-key. They want to bill it as an exclusive, small-venue tour that'll sell out overnight. Set you up with some great numbers so we can demand better contract terms and a bigger percentage when you do your next major tour." He caught the dismayed look on her face and hastened to add: "_After_ your maternity leave, of course."

Rayna sighed. "I don't know, Buck. I mean, I understand that it's stupid to go into hiding just when I'm gaining momentum. I get that part of it, I really do. But Deacon – I mean, he just needs time to concentrate on getting better. I don't know what he'd say about the idea."

Bucky took his final bite of sandwich and balled his napkin up in his fist. "Well, think about it yourself, and talk to him about it. Whatever you decide, I'll go to bat for you. You know that."

Rayna nodded, picking up another sandwich; tuna salad this time. "Thanks, babe. I'll do that."

"Oh, and before I forget: We need to think about what we want to say in the press release. Word about the baby hasn't leaked yet, but you know it's only a matter of time. It's always better if we announce it first. Get out in front of it."

"Yeah, I know. Well, what can we say? Just that I'm expecting, and the baby's due in February. Right?"

Bucky grimaced. "Well, what about the father? I mean, you're unattached, so that's going to be the first thing the press is going to ask about. I was thinking we could say something like, 'Country music legend Rayna Jaymes-"

"_Legend_?! Really? I mean, I'm flattered, but I don't think I've been around quite long enough to qualify as a legend, Buck."

"Hmm. How about 'Country music _superstar_ Rayna Jaymes-"

"_Superstar_? Oh yeah, I like the sound of that." Rayna looked over at Tandy and winked.

"… and her long-time partner and musical collaborator Deacon Claybourne are expecting their first child in February.' Does that work?"

"I guess so," Rayna said, dubiously. "Better hold off on that for a few days. Let me talk to Deacon, at least let him know what's happening. Okay?"

"Sure. But let's not wait too long. Like you said, your wardrobe's changing. This baby news is going to come out pretty soon one way or another." Bucky took a sip of his Coke. "Oh, hey, I had another thought. Why don't you take 'This Love Ain't Big Enough' to The Bluebird? Try it out at open mic night; we'll have some of the guys show up too, to do backup. I can't wait to see the reaction to that one."

* * *

"A _daddy_, huh? That's great! Congratulations, man." Gus stuck his hand across the formica diner table, beaming at Deacon. "This your first?"

"Um, _yeah_. Definitely," Deacon said, shaking Gus's hand and mustering a weak smile.

"Well, I'll tell you what, I got three of 'em. First one's the hardest, no question. After this one, they'll all be smooth sailin'."

"_All_? Jesus, Gus. Every time I think about just this _one_ bein' on the way, I feel like – I dunno, I feel like my head's gonna explode or somethin'. Me, bein' someone's _father_? It's just … not a thing I ever really planned on."

"Lot of people don't plan on it. Doesn't mean it don't happen anyway," Gus said wryly, sliding his coffee cup out of the way so the waitress could set down their breakfast plates. "You're gonna be a natural, Deke. I mean, you'll have the whole lullaby thing sewed up right from day one, I know that. Gettin' 'em to go to sleep? That's a big deal the first few years."

Deacon thought about this. His ability to sing a crying baby to sleep hadn't even occurred to him. But he hadn't exactly been toting up his paternal attributes on the positive side of the ledger lately. He had been thinking more about his shortcomings, his internal balance sheet plummeting since Rayna had dropped the news on him. In fact, he'd been in a state of suspended panic for the past month - the desperate, continuous craving for alcohol clashing with an equally desperate determination to stay sober.

He felt like he was holding on, but only by the slimmest of threads. At least Rayna couldn't accuse him of not trying.

"Yeah, well, I suppose the singin' might come in handy," he finally admitted. "I just had such a miserable son-of-a-bitch for a father myself, I always figured it'd be kinder to spare any kid goin' through what I did."

"Oh, hell, most of us had terrible daddies – or none at all. My old man took one look at me and split, according to my mama. We never did see him again. She used to pray ever' night that the bastard was stuck at the bottom of a ditch somewhere, sufferin' and alone." Gus grinned and tucked into his bacon-and-eggs, his appetite seemingly untainted by his sad past.

"You're probably lucky you didn't meet him. My father beat on all of us for years and then, just after I turned 14, he ran his car off the road, blind drunk in the middle of the day," Deacon said. "Went right into the river. Took 'em somethin' like three days to find his body. I was just getting' big enough to whup his ass, and then he fuckin' _died_ before I got my chance. That was about the worst disappointment of my life."

"Well, your old man was one of the bad ones. But you're not gonna be anything like him, Deke. I can see that right clear."

Deacon finished buttering his toast and cut open his chili-cheese omelette, stabbing a large piece with his fork. "What the hell do you know, man? I'm exactly like him. He always told everybody that and it turned out he was right about at least one thing in his miserable life. It's got me scared to death, I'll tell you, thinkin' about tryin' to raise a child. Rayna, too. I can tell."

Gus looked at him, his eyebrows raised. "What'd she say?"

"Told me to stay away from her and the kid 'til I can get my shit together." Deacon took a sip of his coffee. Gus was still staring at him. "I mean, she didn't say it _exactly_ like that. But that's what she meant."

"Smart lady. So, how you figure you're gonna get your shit together anyway, Deke?"

Deacon sighed and shook his head. "Hell if I know, Gus. I mean, I try my best to stay straight, to sober up for her sake. Just never seems to stick. Rayna thinks I been doin' it for all the wrong reasons." He took another bite. "She says I deserve _happiness_. I can't even come near to wrappin' my head around that one."

Gus furrowed his brow. He'd counseled hundreds of addicts over the past decade and sponsored dozens. But he couldn't remember a single one as talented – or as tortured – as Deacon. Many of them had been ego-maniacs, eager to put the blame for their troubles on everyone and everything but themselves. He knew how to reach those guys, when it was possible.

But Deacon was a different type; one who blamed himself for everything that had ever gone wrong in his life or the lives of the people he loved. Whether it was as serious as a drunken friend dying behind the wheel, or as trivial as a cancelled tour date, Deacon seemed convinced he needed punishment for it. And he was doling out the punishment in heavy doses.

He was also very sensitive, taking every little setback to heart. Worst of all were the childhood memories that scared the hell out of him. He was bound and determined not to revisit them, but Gus knew that if he kept all that hurt bottled up, he would never stop trying to numb the pain with one addiction or another. He just had not been able to persuade Deacon of that.

"You don't deserve happiness? Well, I guess you're a special case, then. Different from every other person that walks this earth. _The pursuit of happiness_. Hell, it's in the fuckin' Constitution, man!"

Deacon looked up, confused. "I think that's in the Declaration of Independence." Gus shrugged – _whatever_ - and took another bite of toast.

But Deacon was indignant and gearing up for an argument. "Now you _listen to me_ one minute here. I already got so much I don't even _begin_ to deserve in my life. Hell, just look at me! I came to Nashville when I was nothin' more than a kid with a beat-up guitar and two bucks in my pocket. I didn't know what the hell I was doin'. Part of it was just wantin' to get away from home. And then I met Rayna, and we started writin' together, and singin' together, and everything took off. Now here I am, recordin' my music and tourin' with the best, and making a damn good livin' just doin' what I was born to do. And to top it all off, I got a woman like her who loves me. And now she's _havin' my kid_?"

Deacon had put his coffee cup down and was gesturing with his fork. He inhaled deeply, blowing out the air forcefully while shaking his head. Gus hadn't known him very long, but he'd never seen Deacon so worked up.

"When the _hell_ did I ever begin to deserve any of this? I'm a damn drunk, for _chrissakes!_ And I'm a violent, dangerous drunk on top of it. I even got Ray kicked out of her apartment. She told me the neighbors were complaining about her, but that's a _joke_. Now I'm supposed to be a _father_? It fuckin' scares me to death, thinkin' about the damage I could do, just bein' around a child!"

Gus took a long drink of his coffee and mopped up the remaining egg yolk on his plate with his last bite of toast. Seeing Deacon this passionate was a good sign, he thought. A sign that the man might finally be ready to do the difficult work of recovery.

Gus took a deep breath and started talking slowly. "You're _scared_, huh? Well, join the fuckin' _club_, man. You're not the first and you're not gonna be the last, not by a long shot. You're gonna be a father? Then maybe you'd better _man up_. You know what's scarin' you, and so do I. And the only thing that's gonna help is talkin' about it - about what happened when you were a kid. Get it out there now that you're an adult, and take a good look at it in the light of day, 'stead of lettin' it turn every dream you ever had into a goddamn nightmare."

Deacon stared at him. Gus had pushed him occasionally when he was at Riverside, but never this hard. "I can't," he said, flatly.

"Can't? Or won't? 'Cause I think you_ can_ but you just don't _want_ to."

"_Fuck no_, I don't want to! What's the point?" Deacon scowled. "Why should I dredge up all that ugly shit? I spent the last 20 years tryin' to forget it!"

"Yeah. An' how's that been workin' out for you, Deke?" Gus's voice was quieter, his eyebrows raised, looking Deacon directly in the eye. "Has stuffin' it all down inside made you forget one fuckin' minute of it? Has drinkin' yourself into a stupor every night made it go away?"

Deacon looked at him for a while, then dropped his gaze. "No. It hasn't. Nothin' makes it go away. I just don't know what good it's gonna do, bringin' it all back up again."

"Well, how 'bout you trust me when I say it's somethin' you gotta do, no matter how tough it is. And I'll be here to help you through it, I promise. I seen a lotta guys dealin' with the same crap, and seriously - you just gotta work through it, man. Find a way to forgive him."

Deacon's expression turned dark at that last suggestion, and Gus quickly changed course, fearing he would lose what little progress they were making. "Okay, maybe you can't forgive _him_, but at least find a way to forgive _yourself_. 'Cause you took all that bullshit on your back when you were just a little kid, Deke. It wasn't your fault."

"I should've done more. I could've done more. I was just – I was just a freakin' _coward_. I was so damn scared of that bastard," Deacon muttered, half to himself.

"And why was it your job to save everybody? You didn't have a mama, or a grandpappy or a uncle or anybody else who coulda stood up to him?"

Deacon groaned and raked his fingers through his hair. "My mama always said she_ loved_ him. I never understood it. He could be whalin' on her one minute and lovin' her up the next. Made me _sick,_ to be honest with you. It still does. And here I am, doin' the same thing with Rayna."

"Oh, _hell no_, you're not! You ever laid a finger on that woman in anger?"

Deacon shook his head. "No. But I could've."

"But you _didn't_, no matter how fucked up you were." Gus reached across the table and grabbed Deacon's wrist. "Doesn't that count for somethin'? And you're never goin' to, neither. You're never gonna hurt her or this baby that's comin' along. I know that."

Deacon looked up, his eyes haunted and his face hollow. Gus might trust him, but he sure as hell didn't trust himself. And he was out of answers. Maybe it was time to trust someone else for a change. He sighed heavily again. "Okay, you win, man. What do I have to do? How about you start by just tellin' me that."

* * *

Deacon pushed through the door of the Bluebird Café carrying his guitar case. He stopped immediately and stared up at the stage. Rayna was there, belting out a no-holds-barred, "_baby-I'm-a-dump-your-cheatin'-ass_" number he'd never heard before, and half her band was there rocking on backup. He watched, as riveted as the rest of the audience by her performance.

"_Make my day, you son of a gun, this love ain't big enough for the two of us_," she sang, strutting across the small stage. "_Gonna take what's left of this love and put it in the ground. It was a knock-down, drag out romance. Quick draw, honey let me see you dance. Look at who's the last one standing now ... this love ain't big enough for the two of us._"

When the song came to a close with a rollicking flourish, the house erupted in applause, whistles and hollers. Most of the people around Deacon jumped to their feet. Rayna, flushed and out of breath, blew a kiss and took a little bow before she handed the microphone back to the emcee.

Deacon watched as she walked over to a table where a tall, sandy-haired man stood, still clapping. He put his arm around her and kissed her cheek before she turned to accept congratulations from the small crowd that had gathered around. Deacon saw that Bucky Dawes and several musicians he recognized were there.

Rayna was wearing black leggings and a long-sleeved, flowing lavender tunic that draped softly over what Deacon could tell was a small baby bump. On first glance it might not be obvious, but it looked to him like her pregnancy was becoming an open secret.

His heart skipped a beat watching her and he felt an extra-special sense of pride. He'd always known how supremely lucky he was that this gorgeous, talented woman had fallen in love with him. And now she was carrying his baby. In a few short months, she would be bringing his child into the world. _His child_. No matter what happened between them personally, they would always be connected by this new life they had created together.

That thought made him happier than he had been in months. He walked over to the bar and ordered a club soda, then looked back in her direction. She had shouldered her purse and was walking toward the door with the blond man he didn't recognize, the two of them laughing at what looked like some inside joke.

Deacon paid for his drink and picked it up, stepping in front of her. They might not be together, but there was no law saying he couldn't say hello to her in public.

She looked up and a big smile spread over her face. "Deacon! I wondered if you'd make it here tonight. I'm glad I didn't go on sooner or I might have missed you."

"Hey, Ray. Yup, I make a habit of bein' here most open mic nights." She kissed his cheek and slid her arm loosely around his neck, holding him close just long enough for him to feel her abdomen pressing against him. "That song you just did, Ray? _Wow_ - that was somethin' else. You're gonna have a real big hit on your hands with that one."

"Yeah, you think so? That's what Buck says."

"Well, Bucky's usually right about that. It's a chart-topper if I ever heard one. When'd you write it?"

"Oh … a few months back," she said, evading his gaze. Hearing those song lyrics had led him to suspect that she had channeled the rage and pain of his forgotten proposal into her songwriting. Her reaction now confirmed that.

"Sorry Rayna, but we need to get going. My shift starts soon."

Rayna turned to look at the man standing behind her as if she'd forgotten he was there. "Oh my gosh, I'm sorry to be so rude! Deacon, this is my neighbor, Dave. He's been wanting me to hear me sing, so he offered to bring me down here tonight."

So _this_ was the good doctor. Deacon smiled and offered his hand. "Hey, nice to meet you, Dave. Rayna's told me about you, how you been helpin' her out. Thank you for that."

Dave shook his hand. "Well, I'll tell you, it's an honor to have such a big star living in our building. Just please don't believe a word she says about me; I've been her biggest fan for years. Got all her albums," he said, throwing Rayna a teasing smile. She smiled back at him and, in a gesture that was eminently familiar to Deacon, whacked him playfully on the arm. "I'm just sorry to have to drag her away so early. I'd love to hear her sing something else. But I'm working tonight."

"Well, we are getting pretty close to my bedtime these days," Rayna said. "But I actually need to talk to Deacon a minute. Dave, if you don't mind, I think I'll stay a little longer and get a ride home. It won't be a problem: Bucky can drive me."

Deacon looked around. "I'm pretty sure I saw him skedaddle a minute ago. Probably had a date. But I can give you a ride. If you don't mind listenin' to me do a song first," Deacon offered.

Rayna laid a hand on his arm. "That'd be real nice of you. Let me just say goodnight to Dave." The doctor nodded to Deacon and followed Rayna out the door. Deacon watched them, swallowing hard. He saw Rayna embrace Dave and kiss him on the cheek. She stood watching his car back out of the parking lot and waved goodbye to him before she came back inside. Deacon offered her a chair at a back table, stowing his guitar underneath it and sitting down next to her.

"So that's _Dave_, huh?"

"Yeah."

Deacon raised his eyebrows.

"Oh, not _you_ too! Tandy was teasing me about him last week. Seriously, we're just friends. He's been – well, he's been a really good friend to me. He's easy to talk to. And he _knows_ - about the baby, I mean. He's been wonderful about that too."

Deacon studied her a minute, then relented. "Well then, I'm glad to hear it. Lord knows you can use all the friends you can get about now. How are you, darlin'? You look-"

A warning glance from Rayna stopped him.

"What? I was gonna say you look _beautiful_."

"Well, thanks. And thanks for not saying _pregnant_ or _big_. That's what everyone's been saying lately."

"Well, it is gettin' a little more obvious. But you are by far the most beautiful pregnant woman I've ever seen."

"Thanks," she said, smiling. "I'm glad I ran into you."

"Me too. How're you feelin'?"

"Good, actually. Got most of my energy back, which is a wonderful thing."

"Not queasy anymore?"

"No, though I'm off anything real strong-tasting or spicy. I'm eating lots of bland food right now. Eating for two, actually."

He laughed, then looked down at the table, hesitating. "So, how's ... _the kid_, anyway?"

"Seems to be fine. The other day, I even thought-"

"What?"

"I don't know. It's too early."

"For what?"

"I thought maybe I felt it moving. But that's not supposed to happen for a few more weeks."

"Movin'? What, like kickin'?"

"No…" she said slowly, a look of wonderment coming across her face. "It's hard to describe. Kind of like a moth fluttering, but from the inside, if you can imagine that."

"Really?" Deacon looked rapt.

"Yeah. Unless ... it was just indigestion."

He laughed. "Well, darlin', seein' as how it's yours, I wouldn't be one bit surprised if this kid is ahead of the game already."

"_Mine_? So you're not gonna take any credit, huh?"

"We'll both be lucky if this child takes after you 100 percent, Ray."

"Not if this child decides to play the guitar, we won't be."

Deacon laughed. "Okay, I'll give you that much. Hey, here's a question: What'll we do if it's tone deaf?"

Now it was Rayna's turn to laugh. "Somehow, I don't think that's very likely, Deacon. But I'm sure we'll love our baby even if it sings off-key."

They smiled at each other and then paused, both struck suddenly by the enormity of what they were discussing: _Their baby_.

Deacon looked away. "Kinda hard to believe, isn't it? Kinda … _weird._"

"Yeah. It is weird. But kind of ... _good,_ too. Right?"

He looked back at her. "Yeah," he said, nodding slowly. "Kind of good."

The emcee got back up on the stage and looked at the list of performers who had signed up to play, then glanced toward the back of the room. "Deacon Claybourne, I thought I saw you come in. You gonna favor us with a tune tonight?"

The audience looked at Deacon and Rayna and scattered applause started at the tables nearest them. Deacon grinned and pulled his guitar out of its case. "Will you excuse me a minute?" he asked, and she nodded. He walked up to the stage, shook hands with the emcee and settled himself on a stool, acknowledging the applause as he tuned his guitar.

"Thanks y'all," he said, nodding to the technician sitting at the board in the back. The house lights went down and a solo spot was trained on Deacon. "Tonight I want to do a little song for you that I wrote sittin' right over there," he said, pointing to a table down front. "That was more than 10 years ago. I wrote it for someone who's here tonight. Ray, this is for you."

Deacon cleared his throat and started picking the strings of his guitar. From the first notes, Rayna recognized, "A Life That's Good." The audience picked up on the tune a couple of measures later and rewarded him with applause. A lump grew in Rayna's throat as his clear, sweet tenor voice filled the room. He looked at her particularly when he got to the second verse. "_Sometimes I'm hard on me, when dreams don't come easy. I wanna look back and say, I did all that I could. Yeah, at the end of the day, Lord I pray, I have a life that's good_."

Rayna picked up a cocktail napkin and dabbed her eyes. Deacon finished his song, thanked the audience for its applause and returned to the table, his guitar in hand.

"Thank you, babe," she said. "That means a lot."

"I just thought maybe that was somethin' you needed to hear. Hey, what're you drinkin'?" he asked, picking up his now-empty club soda.

She smiled. "Exactly the same as you, these days."

He laughed. "Okay. Let me go get us another couple club sodas." Deacon went up to the bar, exchanging greetings with several people while he waited for their drinks. By the time he returned to Rayna, he was checking his watch.

"I'm sorry, Ray, I know you probably need to get goin'. What was it you wanted to talk to me about?"

"Oh, gosh. Okay," Rayna sighed. "The PR department at Edgehill needs to put out a press release about the baby. Bucky thinks we should just come out and say you're the daddy right up front. But I wanted to check with you first. There's a whole lot of nonsense you're probably going to have to deal with because of this."

"Well, my mama always said, 'Better to tell the truth up front, than have to correct a lie later.' So yeah, sure. And I'm used to the uproar, you know that."

"Okay, thanks babe. Oh. There's something else, too."

Deacon braced himself: _Twins? Triplets?_ There was no telling what she was going to lay on him these days.

"Edgehill wants to book us for some shows together before the holidays. Not a real long tour, no arenas or anything. But they think we ought to bring back that original tour we used to do. Just the two of us with a couple guys on backup." Rayna was cringing a little. "What do you think?"

"What do _you_ think?"

"I don't know, babe. I mean, I'm uncomfortable with it. They're going to exploit this pregnancy, just like they always want to do with our personal lives, and I hate that. But I'm not going to be able to tour until late next year, if at all, and I hate to miss a chance to get out there with this new song that everybody's so fired up about."

Deacon considered a moment, twisting his napkin in his fingers. "Well, I don't want you to do anything you're uncomfortable with, Ray," he said, finally. "But if you're askin' _me_? I haven't exactly been workin' steady these past few years and not many people are willin' to take a chance on me showin' up on time and sober, you know? So I could use an opportunity to prove I'm back on track. And I could use the money, too. Especially," he glanced over at her lap, where her hands were resting. "Especially with the kid comin' along."

Rayna nodded, still looking hesitant. "But how are we going to handle getting up on stage and singing all our old love songs, Deacon? I mean, it's going to be pretty tough to stick to our decision about not ... falling back into old habits, isn't it?"

He knew exactly what she meant. He thought a moment. "Well, we could always work it out so that you do your new song as an encore. I'd say that'd kill off any kind of mood we might get ourselves into singin' somethin' like, "That Could Be Us" or "No One Will Ever Love You."

Rayna looked at him a minute, then burst into laughter. He joined her. "I mean, I could be wrong Ray, but I thought I detected just a _little hostility_ in that one."

"Uhhhhh, yeah, there might just be a little bit of that," Rayna said, still smiling.

"Well, I know I deserve it, darlin', so I'm not gonna say another word."

"Deacon, you deserve-"

"_Happiness? _Yeah, I know that's what you think. And a few other people. I'm workin' on it, I promise." He put his hands on the table and looked at her. "Hey, shouldn't we think about gettin' you home? I hear tell that pregnant ladies turn into pumpkins after 10 o'clock at night."

"Really? You're going to compare me to a pumpkin now?," Rayna asked, smiling. Then she sighed. "Yeah, I could probably use some beauty sleep." She sat back and considered him a moment, narrowing her eyes and suppressing a grin. "If I didn't know better, Deacon Claybourne, I'd say that you were looking out for me."

"Yeah? Well, maybe I am. That okay with you?"

She paused a minute. "Yeah, I guess."

"The way I see it, somebody's gotta do it. And it sure as hell's not gonna be _Dave_."

Rayna laughed. "Really, you don't have to worry. I've got Tandy fussing over me night and day."

"Well, good for her." Deacon paused a moment, then added: "What's your daddy say?"

Rayna rolled her eyes and sighed. "I don't know. I haven't even been brave enough to talk to him. I can only imagine how _thrilled_ he's going to be."

"I'm just surprised he hasn't come after me with a shotgun," Deacon said.

"Well, that may be the way they do it where you come from, babe, but that's not exactly the Wyatt way."

"That's true," Deacon agreed. "Guess it's a good thing he can't cancel my country club membership or blackball me from the polo team, huh?"

The two of them gathered their things and left the club a few minutes later. Deacon turned the radio on as they drove to her apartment and they smiled at each other and sang along when a caller requested "At the End of the Day," on a love song dedication program. "Feels kinda like old times, huh?" he asked.

"Yeah, it does," she said. "Guess we'd better get used to that." She directed him to the driveway in front of her building and he stopped his truck. Rayna opened her door and prepared to get out.

"Hey, darlin', can I ask you somethin'?"

Rayna looked at him. He could see that she thought he was going to ask if he could come inside.

"No, it's not that," he said, shaking his head. "I was just wonderin' … remember when you said that you thought about not goin' through with it? Not havin' the kid, I mean?"

"Yeah, I remember."

"Was it because it was mine? Is that why you thought about ... gettin' rid of it?"

Rayna smiled softly. "_No_. No, Deacon. That's why I kept it - because it's yours. _Ours_."

_A/N: Thanks again for all the lovely comments, and thanks also to Rachel Wilder, who beta'd for me on chapters six and seven. She provided valuable advice and proof-reading, and I really appreciate it._


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

In Therapy

_A/N: Thanks to Shiny Jewel for beta-reading this chapter._

"Hey. I'm Deacon. And I'm an alcoholic."

He clutched the podium and looked out over the crowd at the Westminster Presbyterian Church, rocking back and forth nervously on his heels. The familiar rows of well-worn, metal folding chairs were more than three-quarters full this Saturday morning and the double doors in the back of the room were shut. The smell of percolating coffee and musty hymn books filled the air.

Deacon took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. A murmur of approval and some shouted encouragement arose from his fellow AA members, who recognized his struggle. He had spoken in many group therapy sessions and even gotten up in front of this AA meeting in the past, and it was never easy. But this time was more difficult than ever.

Over the weeks that had passed since his breakfast with Gus, Deacon had begun examining the origins of his addiction. It had been at once liberating – finally confronting the memories he had hidden away for so long - and emotionally wrenching. He still didn't know how analyzing the worst parts of his childhood would make him happy, let alone keep him from drinking. But Gus seemed to think it was the thing to do, so he did it.

One thing had become powerfully clear early on: The sessions with Gus felt different. Far removed from anything a sponsor or therapist had tried before, despite his five stints in rehab and nearly a decade in and out of AA. The work he was doing now, looking seriously at his past and how it had affected the choices he'd made in his life, made him realize that he had never really done the "searching and fearless moral inventory" that the Twelve Steps required.

The thing was, he'd always been a quick study. That was one of the reasons he'd excelled at music so early: He'd been the type of child who was happier watching than participating, never comfortable at the center of attention. And music had fascinated him since before he could remember. He had spent hours studying his relatives who played - guitar, banjo, mandolin, fiddle and bass. By the time he'd gotten his first guitar as a birthday present, he could hold it and look authentic well before he learned any chords.

He realized now that he'd done the same thing with recovery: Faked it. He'd learned from watching - exactly how to dot the I's and cross the T's necessary to persuade everyone that he was making progress. Even himself.

He'd said the right words. Things like, "I'm getting sober for myself."

But truly: Blaming himself for all the pain in his life? Listing his failures one by one? Confessing his sins and shortcomings? Making amends to those he'd hurt? All those things were difficult but do-able for Deacon. But getting sober for himself – because he wanted a rich, full life and because he deserved happiness just like everyone else? That had always seemed impossible.

No matter what kinds of platitudes he'd spouted, underneath he'd always known he was getting sober for Rayna. And since he'd learned about Rayna's pregnancy, his focus had immediately shifted to cleaning up his act for her and the baby.

But Gus – biker, ex-junkie, junior-high-school-dropout Gus – had seen through that trick inside of five minutes. And he was determined not to let Deacon get away with it. "You gotta do it for _yourself_, man, or don't fuckin' _bother_ doin' it at all. 'Cause otherwise, you're just gonna be wastin' your time _and_ mine."

So Deacon had been trying to do what Gus was asking. The problem was, all this hashing and re-hashing of the abuse he and his mother and sister had suffered was depressing the hell out of him. And depression was usually what came before a fall, for Deacon.

Now, he cleared his throat anxiously and looked toward the back of the room, where Gus and Jill were sitting side-by-side. Gus nodded and Jill smiled at him.

"Thank y'all for lettin' me say a few words today," he said, looking around at the sea of mostly familiar faces. "My sponsor, Gus – he's sittin' back there - he asked me a question a couple weeks ago. He wanted to know about the very first time I ever had a drink. 'Well, to tell you the truth,' I told him, 'I can't remember.' That's not so surprisin' for me, 'cause there's been a whole lot of things – good and bad - that I haven't been able to remember lately.

"But I thought about it a while and I did remember somethin'. I remembered one summer night – I couldn't have been more'n eight years old – when my mama asked me to call my daddy in for dinner. He had a work bench in the garage, so I went out there lookin' for him. He didn't really do any _work_ out there, but he'd sit there listenin' to the ball game on the radio. Mostly, I think he was out there drinkin', 'cause if he was in the house he knew my mother'd give him a hard time about it. She's one of those Southern Baptists won't have anything to do with liquor. I'm sure y'all know some of those good folks."

Several people laughed or nodded, and Deacon began to relax, loosening his grip on the podium. His voice was stronger and his words less halting when he continued.

"Well, like I said, I went out there, and sure enough that's where I found him. He must've been passed out, but I thought he was sleepin'. He was sprawled out right across that workbench snorin', I remember that. And he had a bottle of Old Crow sittin' up there next to him. That was the whiskey he always drank." Deacon paused and looked around. "Yeah. He was a _cheap_ son-of-a-bitch."

Everyone laughed now, and Deacon began to feel that connection with his audience that made performing so irresistible. He steeled himself and continued.

"There was still some liquor in the bottom of that bottle and somethin' about it looked real pretty to me. So I pulled a stool over and climbed up on it. And I picked up that Old Crow and tipped it back and took a little swallow. I remember just coughin' and chokin' on it, and I was afraid my daddy'd wake up and get mad at me. But he must've been out cold.

"That whiskey burned all the way goin' down. I figure most kids probably would've put that bottle down and never gone near it again – at least for a few years, anyway. But not me. I loved it. About a minute after that Old Crow hit my stomach, I got that _feelin_' – y'all know what I'm talkin' about – that warm feelin', kind of like the whole world's friendlier and happier than you ever knew. And everythin' was glowin' in this kind of golden light. See, my life was pretty dark back then. But at that moment, it seemed like maybe it could be real easy."

Deacon paused. The room was dead quiet. "And after that day, just about all I ever wanted to do was to play my guitar and get that feelin' back. And I spent a lot of years blamin' myself for that."

He looked toward Gus and Jill again, blinking back tears. They were watching him intently. "But thinkin' about it now, lookin' at it from the age of 30, I'm realizin' some things. Like maybe a child of eight hasn't got the good sense not to pick up a bottle, and his daddy should've taught him that. And his mother should've been there to protect him."

Deacon looked down and cleared his throat, wiping his cheek. "And anyway, I got a child of my own comin' into this world before too long, and I want to do right by it. I don't want to be like my old man was, passed out or mean. I want to be there for my kid. And … _for myself_. And I know I can't do that if I'm always chasin' that bottle." Deacon took a deep breath. "Uh … I guess that's all I wanted to say. Thank y'all for listenin'."

Deacon quickly took a seat in the front row, a round of applause following him. He was shaking but happy. He'd been scared, but he'd gone through with it. And he'd been honest. That was all anyone could ask. That was all he could ask of himself.

After the meeting several people came up to hug and congratulate him. Gus stood nearby, beaming, and delivered a bear hug of his own after the others had drifted off. "I'm _proud of you_, man."

"Thanks Gus. It's all on you."

"Man, it'd just about _kill you_ to ever take credit for a blessed thing, wouldn't it. You know the other day, when you told me about leavin' home an' makin' your way to Nashville when you was a kid?"

Deacon nodded, not sure where this conversation was going.

"I was thinkin' on that, and the way I figure, you must be the _luckiest_ two-bit picker alive. You just manage to drift your way up outta Mississippi and get yourself a music career and hook up with the likes of _Rayna fuckin' Jaymes_, huh? It wasn't like you had talent and ambition and guts, I 'spose. Or like you worked your goddamned _ass_ off to get where you are. _Jesus_, man, don't you ever think that maybe you had a _little somethin_' to do with all the good things that've happened to you?"

Deacon stared off into space, thinking. "Well, yeah, I guess I worked hard. Everybody does. But any talent I got – that's all my mama's doin'. She has a beautiful voice. Sang in the church choir up until just a few years ago. She's the one got me singin' and playin' early. Everyone on her side of the family's musical."

"Uh-huh," Gus said. "And how many of 'em are in Nashville headlinin' tours and cuttin' best-sellin' albums and pullin' in more work than they can handle?"

Deacon just looked at him.

"Hmmm. That's about what I thought."

Deacon sighed and passed his right hand over his mouth. "All right, look here: I got some lucky breaks - but I did work hard. And I guess I got some talent to go along with it." He smiled at Gus and shook his head. "_There_. Are you done bustin' my balls yet?"

Gus smiled widely, revealing a few missing teeth. "Yeah. I think you done your work for today."

"Good. 'Cause I'm not gonna lie to you, it hasn't been easy thinkin' about all this crap."

"I know," Gus replied, looking over at Jill, who had just joined the conversation. "And you ain't done yet."

"_Shit_," Deacon said, looking over at Jill and shaking his head "When the hell am I gonna be done?"

She smiled at him. "We can't tell you that. But when you are, you'll know." She glanced over her shoulder, through the now-open double doors and into the hallway. "It looks like maybe somebody out there wants to talk to you."

Deacon looked up, following her gaze. Rayna was standing in the hallway, her left shoulder leaned up against the wall, a dark scarf wound around her throat. Her hair was loose and she had on a bulky red coat, still buttoned up. But it didn't hide the fact that she was unmistakably pregnant. Deacon's heart leaped into his throat at the sight of her and he swallowed hard, trying to keep his emotions in check.

"You two're headed out on your tour next week, ain't that right?" Gus asked.

Deacon looked back at him, distracted. "Yeah, we leave Thursday. We'll only be gone 10 days, though. And you and I are gonna keep in touch, like we talked about. I'll be callin' you every night, for sure."

"I like the sound of that," Gus said.

"Oh, and a couple of the crew guys who're travelin' with us – I found out they're AA. We got to talkin' the other day, and I think they're gonna be real helpful."

"Good," Gus said. Then he looked at Deacon a minute and chuckled. "Okay, quit _starin_' at her and just go get your woman."

Deacon smiled at him and then hugged Jill. "Thanks," he said, looking at both of them.

He walked quickly through the dissipating crowd to the back of the room, his eyes locked on Rayna's. Her smile was so joyful that it nearly broke his heart. He opened up his arms when he reached her and pulled her close to him, registering the unfamiliar feeling of her bulky abdomen wedged up against his midsection. His arms didn't go around her as snugly as they used to, but she wrapped hers around his waist, burrowing her face into his neck.

"Hey, babe. It's so good to see you," she murmured.

"You too, darlin'. What're you doin' here?"

"Al-Anon," she said, her voice muffled in his collar. He tightened his arms around her. She wriggled and let out a little moan of discomfort.

He dropped his arms and pulled back, realizing that he'd been squeezing too hard. "You okay, baby? I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

"I didn't mean to hurt you. It's just... this is the highlight of my week, seein' you here. Hell, it's probably the highlight of my _month_, the way things are goin'."

"Yeah. I know what you mean."

He stepped back and his eyes traveled up and down her body. "Looks like things are comin' right along," he said, grinning.

She smiled, looking a little embarrassed. "Mmm-hmmm. Tandy helped me pick out a bunch of new clothes." She unwrapped her scarf and shrugged her purse off her shoulder, setting both down on the floor beside her. Then she started unbuttoning her red coat. Something about watching her disrobe - even though she was taking off a bulky outer garment in a busy hallway - was irresistibly sexy. Deacon felt his heart quicken as he helped slide the coat off her shoulders, folded it into the crook of his arm and then turned to look appreciatively at her. She was wearing black slacks and a clingy, long-sleeved, periwinkle-blue sweater that outlined her rounded tummy. She spun around slowly in a circle for him. "What do you think?"

_What did he think_? He thought he'd like to press her up against the wall and kiss her right there. And then he thought he'd like to wander down one of these hallways, find an empty room with a lock on the door, and take her inside. He smiled to himself, wondering what the good Presbyterians would say to that. "Nothin' could look bad on you, darlin'. In fact, I don't think I've ever seen you look prettier."

She rolled her eyes a little, but looked pleased nonetheless. "Thanks. You're awfully sweet. How are _you_, anyway? I was hoping you'd be here. I got here early so I wouldn't miss you."

"I'm … _okay_. I been doin' eight or ten meetin's a week, this past month."

"Wow," she said, looking at him critically and reaching out to run her hands down his sides. He shivered at her touch. "You've lost weight," she said, frowning. "I can feel your ribs. Are you eating?"

"Yeah, I guess," he shrugged.

"What's wrong?"

"Oh, I just … it's hard, what they got me doin' in therapy these days. That might've put me off my appetite a little."

"What have they got you doing – running laps?"

"No," he said, chuckling. "They just got me thinkin' through some things that are kind of tough." She looked at him, her brow furrowed, but he sighed deeply and looked away. "I don't wanna talk about it right now, Ray. If you don't mind."

"Yeah, I mean - I'm just worried about you, is all."

"Well, don't be," he said. "Hey darlin', I've been thinkin' about this tour we're doin' and I'm a little worried about you keepin' up with it. That schedule looks pretty tight."

"I'll be fine. We're playing small rooms, doing short sets. And we'll be sitting down for a lot of the songs. Plus, I'll have the master suite on the bus and we've got a few nights in hotels." She rolled her eyes again. "Believe me, Tandy made Bucky absolutely promise I'd get my rest every day. You'd think I had some kind of dread disease, the way those two are going on."

"Well, I'm glad they're lookin' out for you. I just wish I could do more for you, myself."

"I'm fine, Deacon. Really."

"If you say so," he said. Then his face turned serious and he looked into her eyes. "Hey, Ray? Don't lose faith in me, darlin'. I think this tour'll be good for me. It'll be good to get out of town and get out of my head for a little while."

"Good. I hope you're right," Rayna said, though she still looked worried. She glanced into the classroom, where a group of women were rearranging chairs and setting up tables. "I guess I'd better go, babe. My meeting's going to start."

"Okay, I'll see you at rehearsal Monday," he said, putting her coat down next to her purse and hugging her again, more gently this time. He hesitated a moment, then he whispered into her ear. "_I miss you, baby_."

"I know. _Me too_."

* * *

Pregnancy was truly a strange phenomenon, Rayna was realizing. Now that she couldn't hide it, her over-sized tummy had become everyone's business. Strangers commented, people on the street and in stores asked personal questions. Worse, some of them reached out unexpectedly and laid their hands on her. It was as if the privacy she had always cherished had evaporated overnight.

On the other hand, there was something uniquely isolating about being pregnant. Tandy, and her friends, and her band members were interested and helpful and supportive. Even Lamar had greeted the news surprisingly well; he'd already had a beautiful crib sent over to her apartment. But none of them could really relate to what she was going through.

She had been talking a lot with Dave, over IM and in person, and had quickly grown to understand why his patients loved him so much. No matter what fear or worry she confessed, he could reassure her and make her laugh. Dr. Madsen had also been wonderful, true to her word about being available to talk night or day.

And then there were these Al-Anon meetings, which had become something of an oasis in Rayna's week. Most of the other women were mothers and could sympathize with her complaints – physical and otherwise. Plus, they were intimately familiar with the terrible uncertainty she felt around whether or not Deacon would step up to be a real partner for her and a father to their baby.

Rayna had also warmed considerably to Jill since she'd become a regular at the meetings. Jill's bluntness and abrupt manner – even her flat Illinois accent – still grated. She was so completely different from the polite, charming Southern women that Rayna had grown up with. But it was refreshing, in a way, to know that Jill wasn't hiding anything behind a sweet smile. If she thought something, she said it - no doubt about that.

And Rayna also had to admit that she was starting to learn a few things from Jill. Not so much about Deacon or his addiction, but about herself. And that had been the last thing she'd expected.

Her confusion about Al-Anon's purpose had been cleared up when she'd asked Jill one day why the members talked about themselves and spent hardly any time talking about their partners' addictions.

"Al-Anon recognizes that most friends and family of alcoholics are traumatized by addiction. It dominates their lives, even though they aren't addicts themselves. They need emotional support and understanding that they're not going to get from their partners," Jill had explained. "For instance, you've been fighting Deacon's battles for him for a long time, haven't you? Did you ever think about letting him do some of that work for himself, and maybe putting some energy into figuring out your _own_ bullshit?"

As usual, Rayna had been taken aback by her statement. "_Me_? I don't have a problem! I'm not an alcoholic."

"Maybe not, but you've stayed with one for more than 10 years." Jill looked at her, as if the number alone said it all. When Rayna continued to look at her blankly, Jill sighed and continued. "Did you ever wonder why you've put up with him for so long? Hell, most women would have been out of this relationship after rehab number _one_ didn't work. And everyone would have called them saints just for sticking around for that long. You're on rehab number _five_ and counting, right?"

"Right," Rayna had admitted, sighing.

"So, maybe you want to think about that. About why you've stayed with him for so long. I mean, I know you _love him_, we all do. But it's kind of remarkable, don't you think?"

Rayna had heard this before, many times, from her family and friends. Even from Deacon's family and friends, to be honest - starting with Coleman. And she'd always stubbornly refused to consider that there was anything wrong with their relationship outside of Deacon's drinking. She loved him, she needed him, and he felt the same way about her. That was all there was to it.

But now Jill was prompting her to question herself. The older woman looked at her intently for a moment, then continued, speaking more gently. "What is it in your life that has made you so different from other people, when it comes to dealing with Deacon?" she asked.

"I don't know," Rayna said, looking troubled. "I mean, I lost my mother when I was 12. She died in a car accident. That was really a horrible thing to go through, especially at that age. And then my father kicked me out of the house when I was 16, right after I met Deacon."

She stared off into space for a moment, her gaze unfocused. Jill watched her, waiting patiently. "But even before all that, I mean – I knew my parents weren't happy. Don't get me wrong: We were always the perfect family, on the outside. We all put on a good show for the Belle Meade Country Club and the Chamber of Commerce. Status is real important to my father and his business interests. But my sister and I used to sit in the hallway late at night, listening to our parents screaming at each other in their bedroom. And my mother, she used to go away and leave us with the help whenever my father was out of town. When she got back, she'd make us promise not to tell him. My family … we've got a secretive streak, I guess. We're all very private. We don't talk about things like feelings."

"Um-hmm. That's a lot of shit to be dealing with, Rayna. Maybe some of this is what you want to be thinking about and talking about with the group. You don't have to get into anything you don't want to share, of course. But there's a lot in what you're telling me that might have something to do with how you and Deacon have interacted over the years."

And so Rayna had begun opening up about her feelings. Once she tried it, she found that Al-Anon's focus on honesty, clarity and accepting responsibility was a breath of fresh air; completely new to her. But thinking more deeply about her relationship with Deacon was also terrifying, especially after she learned about co-dependency. It seemed like the two of them could be the poster kids for that particular dysfunction.

Rayna sighed deeply now, as she watched Deacon walk down the hall, away from her. She missed him; maybe too much. She thought it was probably unhealthy to be pining after him the way she had been doing. They loved each other and they were going to have a child together. She wished she didn't have to think about anything beyond that.

Rayna squared her shoulders and walked into the meeting room, greeting several regulars and taking her usual seat. Jill started the group with the statement of purpose and reminder about confidentiality. Thank goodness everyone took that rule seriously: Some of the confidences Rayna had shared recently would have made extremely juicy tabloid fodder.

The members took turns around the table, some reporting progress in their personal development and others talking about concerns or setbacks. Several were in crisis, with their partners back to drinking or doing drugs. One mother reported that she'd lost touch with her heroin-addicted son and feared that he was living on the street in Austin.

When Rayna's turn came around, she took a deep breath and talked about her relationship worries. She had fallen in love with Deacon at a vulnerable time, when she was young and needy. And she'd clung to him as her protector and champion when she was a teenager whose only parent had just rejected her, she told the group. She didn't know much about Deacon's childhood, but she knew that it had been troubled as well. Could they really salvage a relationship built on such a shaky foundation? What kind of family life could the two of them offer a child?

The question hung in the air as Wanda, one of the members about her age, handed Rayna a box of tissues that had been making the rounds during the meeting. Rayna smiled gratefully and dried the tears that had spilled over.

"Thanks for sharing, Rayna," Jill said, and she stood up to close the meeting. This – the way that members shared their deepest thoughts and concerns without any feedback – had taken Rayna some time to appreciate. It was part of the Al-Anon philosophy that feelings shared in group were what they were. There was a rule against commenting upon them or picking them apart, even to offer help or advice. Rayna had been dubious about this idea at first, but it seemed to work. Keeping her thoughts to herself meant they would come back to her again and again. Getting them off her chest in a meeting seemed to also get them off her mind. It was helpful.

After the meeting, she and Jill fell into their usual ritual of clearing up the room together and then chatting over whatever dregs they could siphon from the bottom of the coffee pot. Rayna picked up a white styrofoam cup and filled it nearly to the top with milk, adding just enough coffee to turn the liquid caramel color.

"What's on your mind today?" Jill started. She let Rayna set the agenda for their talks.

"Well, Deacon and I are touring together, starting next week."

"Um-hmm. This is something the two of you have done a lot over the years, right?"

"Oh, yeah," Rayna nodded. "When we first started out, we were on the road more than we were home. Played every county fair and dance hall and music festival we could get ourselves booked into. It was pretty crazy."

"What's it going to be like this time?"

"I don't know. That's something I've been wondering about. I mean, that was one reason we got so close - being on the road together for weeks on end." Rayna smiled fondly. "When I got an attack of nerves before a show, he used to walk me out into the seats where our crew was setting up. And we'd talk about who was going to be there, and why, and what we wanted them to feel, listening to us sing. That always just calmed me right down."

"Is it going to be different this time?"

"I mean, _everything's_ different this time. You know we've been keeping our distance, but it's been hard on both of us. And I don't know what's going to happen once we're around each other all the time again. And man, being on the road was always so_ bad_ for Deacon."

Jill raised her eyebrows. "How do you mean?"

"Well, we're up all hours for starters. Nobody can sleep after a show - good or bad - so everybody goes out drinking half the night. And we all sleep it off the next day on the bus. That's just part of being on the road."

"But you won't be doing that in your condition, surely?" Jill asked.

Rayna stopped, realizing that she wouldn't, of course. "No."

Jill looked at her, eyebrows raised, waiting for her to make the leap.

"So … if I'm not doing all that, maybe Deacon won't be tempted to, either?"

"I guess you'll have to wait and see."

"I know," Rayna sighed. "It's just that I worry about him. Even seeing him today, I mean – I feel like he's depressed. And that's always a bad sign."

"Maybe so. But don't count him out. You know, you can worry all you want, Rayna, but it isn't going to help him one little bit. And it's not going to help that baby girl of yours, either," Jill said. She smiled and looked at Rayna's shrinking lap. "She's making her presence known these days, isn't she?"

Rayna smiled and rested her hand on top of her abdomen. "Yes, she sure is. Amazing isn't it?"

"It is." Jill looked up at the clock on the wall. "I've got to get going, but you call me anytime you need to talk while you're out of town, okay? And we'll look forward to seeing you when you get back."

"Thanks," Rayna said, getting up and gathering her coat, scarf and purse.

"Hey," Jill said, when she caught the still-troubled expression on Rayna's face, "have a little faith, okay?"

Rayna looked at her curiously. "You're the second person to say that to me today," she said, then she smiled slyly. "You're a good one to talk, Sister Margaret – _Aloysius_, was it?"

Jill laughed. "Oh boy. I deserved that one, didn't I?"

"You sure did," Rayna replied. And the two of them walked out of the church, arm-in-arm.


End file.
